


Northwestern

by kriskringle



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 47,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriskringle/pseuds/kriskringle
Summary: AU.What if Will recognized MacKenzie in the audience that day? What if they ran into each other afterward?An edited, expanded version of a work originally written (and either posted or abandoned) in 2014.





	1. Chapter 1

_Christ, what a debacle._

The words “hackneyed,” “predictable” and “idiotic” come to mind, but there’s no need for Will to weigh in: Sharon the liberal and her conservative counterpart are content to fill the vacuum with well-worn sound bites.

Jesus, his head hurts.

He squints, rubs his forehead and scans the sea of faces in front of him, trying to distract himself from the pain. He’s always been a people-watcher: being able to predict his father's moods had paid rich dividends.

The crowd is mostly what he expects—young-ish, some well on their way to becoming grooving hipsters, completely unaware of the meta factor that comes with trying to be hip: after all, there are only so many “alternative” styles one can adopt before becoming a cliché.

Somebody in his peripheral vision—some feminine form way off in the back of the audience—captures his attention. As he squints at the back row, trying to make out her features, something about the way she’s holding her head—half-cocked, yet defiant—seems familiar. He can’t quite put his finger on it, so he squints harder.

It’s only when she shakes her head—in exasperation, maybe—that his heart fucking stops.

 _Is that—_?

Her face is shrouded in darkness, but there’s something about her form—feminine curves offset by squared shoulders—that makes him think _it is_.

_Fuck._

As if on cue, a technician adjusts the stage lights, and for a second, her face is thrown into relief.

If he wasn’t absolutely certain he was bat-shit crazy, he’d swear it’s _MacKenzie’s_ eyes staring back at him, _MacKenzie’s_ face, with her big eyes and resolute stare, shining like a beacon in the darkness.

This isn’t the first time he’s imagined seeing her in a crowd, but it’s the first time his body has reacted so viscerally.

For a split second, the pounding in his head subsides long enough for his mind to start chanting, _it’s her, it’s her, it’s her._

The surf (the inane babble on either side of him), which had been crashing in, disappears, and for a moment, the ocean he's standing in seems eerily calm: MacKenzie, with her brown hair shining under the lights, her hazel eyes bright and discerning, is staring back at him.

A moment later, she disappears, morphed into someone who looks eerily like her.

When she reappears, a powerful wave washes over him, completely pulling him under.

_Is it her? Could it be her?_

It’s not until she’s out of focus again that he’s able to fight his way to the surface—just in time to notice the moderator has asked him a direct question.

A pat answer seems to suffice, so he quickly turns his attention back to the crowd.

Off to his right, some whisp of a girl stands up to speak.

Though it registers that she’s asked perhaps the most moronic question of the afternoon (“What makes America the greatest country in the world?”), he’s not really paying attention because he’s looking for landmarks in the crowd, trying to figure out where the fuck “MacKenzie” is.

He barely notices the idiots on either side of him spouting pat, moronic answers and it's only when he hears his own name that he realizes the moderator is asking him to weigh in.

_Shit._

“Freedom and freedom,” he says and hopes it’s enough.

At that moment, MacKenzie reappears with a look on her face he knows all too well.

It’s the one that used to irritate the crap out of him, the one urging him to rise above his natural inclination to take the easy way out.

_Come on, Billy, you can do better than that._

And then he imagines (he really must be losing it) that she’s holding up a fucking sign (“ _It’s not_ ”).

He keeps staring, instinctively waiting for further direction and when it comes (“ _But it can be_ ”), he finds himself unleashing a torrent of vitriol.

The rest is history.

Fifteen minutes later he stumbles out of the auditorium, blinded by flashbulbs and an apparently overactive imagination.

_Could it have been her?_

He has no idea what the fuck came out of his mouth back there because the only word on his mind is _MacKenzie_.

Sharon the liberal is saying something to him—unflattering, no doubt—but he can’t hear her.

He’s heading for the exit, pushing through the double doors into the hallway, some sixth sense propelling him in that direction.

If by some miracle it _was_ her, and he does happen to find her, what the fuck is he going to say to her?

He’s spent the last three years berating himself for being so weak, for seeing her—or _wanting_ to see her—in every crowd.

Where is that resolve now?

He has no idea—his body is in charge—and all _it_ cares about is whether it was _her_.

A clutch of students crowds around him, but he ignores them, looking around, searching, until the lizard part of his brain kicks in and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He whirls around, and there she is, walking away.

He’d know the curve of that back anywhere because it’s seared into his brain.

His body tells him this is not his imagination, it’s a _lock_ , this is _her_ , and before he can stop himself, he’s bellowing her name.

“MacKenzie!”

The word is wrenched from his throat—desperate and bawling. It echoes off the wallpaper-covered walls of the 100-year old building, eliciting murmurs of surprise from the crowd.

They follow his gaze to where she’s standing—frozen—her heart hammering in her chest.

He’s seen her. He’s ten feet away from her and he’s calling her name.

Slowly, slowly, she turns to face him and when she finally raises her eyes to his, time crashes to a halt and all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears.

It’s _her_.

A flash of unalloyed joy surges through him that’s quickly supplanted by regret and anger, and then he’s choking out, “You.”

Reading his lips, she nods and slowly picks her way toward him.

The crowd parts for her, understanding somehow this has nothing to do with them, and now she’s standing six inches away from him, clutching a binder to her chest and shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes never leave his face and he can’t stop staring, let alone open his mouth to form words.

 _She is so, so beautiful_.

“Hello, Will,” she says finally, and her voice is a balm coating his jangled nerves, bathing them in warmth.

“It’s good to see you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The spell broken, people start pestering him, thrusting pens and pieces of paper at him, but he can’t move because he can’t breathe.

The last words he’d spoken to her flash in his brain.

She’d stood there, sobbing, begging him to listen, begging him to believe her when she told him the affair was over and that she loved him, only him.

_Please don’t throw what we have away, Billy, please._

_You need to leave. Don’t call me. Don’t e-mail me. I never want to see your face or hear your voice again._

She’d begged and she’d pleaded but he’d refused to listen, turning his back on her and telling her over his shoulder that she needed to clear her shit out and that she’d better not be there when he got back.

He’d headed straight to a bar and gulped down seven shots of whiskey in quick succession, forcing himself to inhale after each draught (the polar opposite of what Steve, his lanky, pimply-faced older cousin had instructed him to do at age 13 when he’d introduced him to hard liquor: _“Breathe in—drink—breathe out. Come on, Willie, don’t be such a pussy.”_ )

Now, 35 years later, the harsh vapor from the glass filling his nostrils is a welcome distraction from his thoughts, which fill him with shame.

_What did he do for her that I didn’t? Did he make love to her better? Taste better? Make fewer sarcastic, ill-timed jokes?_

Suddenly, everything he _is_ feels wrong, every aspect of himself is something he wants to peel off and throw on the floor behind him, and the ignorant person he was before, the one blissfully unaware of everything happening behind his back is suddenly both pathetic and enviable. He cringes, imagining all of the things that were happening when he wasn’t paying attention.

At the same time, he wishes he could return to a moment where _not_ knowing was a possibility, to being the blissfully ignorant person who didn’t know what was happening behind his back. But that person just wasn’t good enough to have her love. Just like he’d never been good enough to have his father’s love. How could he ever have thought it would be different with her? With anyone?

He sits there, awash in shame and self-loathing, winding and rewinding the movie reel of their life together, trying to see where he’d gone wrong.

Then, _Why wasn’t I good enough?_

Suddenly, he’s overcome by a wave of nausea so strong it chokes him. He pushes his stool back and heads for the back of the bar, stumbling as he rounds the corner into the hallway.

As he feels himself going down, he falls as he was taught to do in high school: _knees, hips, shoulder._

Then he gets to his feet, shoves the door to the men’s room open and shambles inside, where he expels the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. Sweat is beading on his forehead and he grips the metal bars on either side of the stall so hard his fingers ache.

He shakily gets to his feet and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a single thought crowding out all others:

_She never loved me—it was all a lie._

He wants to weep.

Later, he walks the six blocks back to his apartment, trying to decide whether it would be worse to open the door and find her there or find her gone.

The streets are uncharacteristically empty for this time of night, and as he walks the last block home, shoulders slumped and hands dug deep in his pockets, he angrily wipes the tears from his eyes.

When she hears the key turn in the lock, she slowly gets to her feet and stands, heart pounding. The fact is, even though she’s spent the last three hours trying to work out how the fuck she’s going to convince him that _of course,_ he can trust her—she’s finished with all that pesky lying, honest!—there’s really no plausible explanation for sleeping with Brian that would make forgiveness possible.

She wouldn’t trust _him_  if the roles were reversed. But she has to try, so she waits.

When he steps into the foyer and sees her standing there—eyes swollen and red with tears—he’s overwhelmed with rage.

_How could she have done it? How could she?_

He would never, ever raise a hand to her but the urge to lash out at her—at anyone, to release the rage that’s making his head pound and his eyes ache—is more powerful than he’s felt in years.

Not since he was a kid staring John McAvoy down has he wanted to hit something as badly as he wants to hit something now.

He wants to break all the furniture into pieces, smash every bit of glass in the kitchen and sweep all the appliances onto the floor.

_She never loved me. It was all a lie._

But one thing Will McAvoy learned at an early age was how to put a padlock on his feelings, so he does that now and forces the pain from his eyes, forces his features into something steely and inscrutable.

His lips are pressed into a thin line, his fingers clenched into fists and his breath carries the smell of whiskey to her six feet away.

He’s a bomb ready to detonate.

She’s never once been afraid of him and she isn’t now, so slowly, tentatively, she takes a step toward him.

Her hands are outstretched, palms pressing against an invisible barrier as she moves toward him.

He doesn’t move, only shakes his head in warning. It’s only years of conditioning that keep him from screaming at her to stay the fuck away from him.

She stops three feet away, not daring to go any further. She’s not afraid of him exactly, she doesn’t think he’d ever hurt her, but in the space of three hours, she’s gone from enjoying her own personal real estate in Will McAvoy’s arms to feeling like a complete stranger to him.

It kills her to see him in so much pain, doubly so knowing she was the cause, so she tries to tell him something of why she’s still standing there, why she didn’t do as he asked and leave.

“I can’t let you give up on us, Will,” she says quietly, but he only snorts in derision.

_Where does she get off thinking she has a choice in the matter? She’s the one who burned the whole fucking house down._

“Get out,” he says sharply. His voice is colder than she’s ever heard it and the tenor of it—filled with barely concealed rage—fills her veins with ice.

“I can’t.”

She’s telling the truth. Although she knows the honorable thing to do is to go, to let him decide his own future, she can’t take that chance: she knows as well as she’s standing here that if she steps foot outside his apartment he’ll close the door on her—on them—forever.

“You’re a cheating, lying whore, MacKenzie, and I never knew you at all. Get out.”


	3. Chapter 3

Stunned, she inches her way back to the couch, drops down and buries her face in her hands. She knows what he’s doing, that he’s trying to cross a line they can never get back over and then he’s beside her, grabbing her forearms with both hands and yanking her towards the door.

He doesn’t hurt her but she’s no match for his strength, so she does the only thing she can do: she sinks to her knees.

And then he’s lifting her, carrying her to the door and she’s wrapping her legs around his waist and clinging on, refusing to let go, burying her face in his neck. The smell of whiskey through his skin is strong enough to make her nauseous on an empty stomach but she clings more tightly to him as he wrenches the door open with one hand.

He carries her into the hallway, peels her arms off his shoulders and sets her down roughly before bolting back inside and slamming the door in her face. Suddenly the door opens again and her shoes and purse whiz past her head. Then the door slams shut. She hears the deadbolt turn and then there is silence.

He stands on the other side of the door, breathing heavily, fighting against the urge to open it, to gather her into his arms, to believe her sorry excuses.

It’s midnight. She picks up her shoes and purse, props herself against the wall outside his door and feels her knees give way. As she slides down, she lets the tears fall once more.

 _Oh God, what have I done? This can’t be the end—please, please, don’t let this be the end_.

How can she make him understand that what she’d done then had nothing to do with how she feels about him now but how she’d felt about him _then—_ and still more to do with how she’d felt about herself, which was completely unworthy of his brand of devotion? Too ashamed to admit the intensity of his feelings had scared the shit out of her, she’d tried to sort it out on her own.

And then, one night, after it was all over with Brian, after weeks of avoiding his phone calls, something had shifted. Will had looked at her, those blue eyes bathing her in warmth, and her stomach turned a somersault. He was a man, not a boy, and she loved _him_. It was the moment she let her guard down and it was the moment she fell in love with him. She hadn’t looked back until she started getting the feeling he was thinking about marriage.

She was thrilled, sure of what her answer would be, but she needed for them to start out on the right foot. She had to tell him. And so she had. And now everything had gone to hell.

She hugs her knees to her chest and looks down at her purse, where the key to his apartment lays tucked in the front pocket. Does she dare use it? No. She’ll wait for him. She lays her head down and catnaps throughout the night, her head jerking up at every noise.

Six hours later, as she knows he will, he opens the door to go downstairs to get the newspapers. It’s clear he hasn’t slept a wink and his puffy eyes and damp cheeks indicate he’s only recently stopped crying. When he sees her sitting there, exhausted and with puffy eyes, he’s momentarily touched by her resolve—until he remembers what she’s done.

_How could she do it? How could she let me shower her with love and affection, openly act like the besotted fool I was at the same time she was seeing someone else? She must have been laughing at me for months – how often has she secretly mocked me for being so gullible, so naïve?_

_She never loved me. It was all a lie._

He swallows the acid in his throat and accepts the newspapers she holds in her outstretched hand. The fact that they’re untouched says something about her despair – tussling over who gets first crack at the Times is ordinarily the first order of business.

He begins to close the door but before he can slam it shut, she wedges her bare foot between the door and the jamb.

He sighs and then says hoarsely, “Go home, MacKenzie.”

His voice is low and raspy from a night spent smoking too many cigarettes, only allowing himself to stub them out once his fingertips were singed.

“I can’t. Please—not until you hear me out.”

“I don’t want to hear you out. You need to resign—or I will—but one of us has to go.”

“I’ll go. I’ll resign. But not until you hear what I have to say.”

“I don’t give two fucks what you have to say, MacKenzie. It’s over,” he says, and he hates himself because he knows he’s trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Please,” she says, and for a moment he forgets what she’s done. He loves her, dammit (well, the “her” he thought she was) and it infuriates him. It’s enough to make him hesitate and before he can respond she’s shoving her way past him and back into the apartment.

He rolls his eyes, shuts the door and turns to face her.

She can tell from his expression that there is very little room for error and very little chance of changing his mind, but she has to try.

And so she begins, forcing herself to look into his eyes, to witness the devastation she’s wrought.

How the fuck had she forgotten that the thing about confessions is that once they’re out of your head and into someone else’s you can’t control their interpretation? _She_ knows she loves him, that what happened with Brian isn’t a reflection of how she feels about Will _now_ , but in Will’s mind it’s all of a piece: she’d cheated on him because she didn’t love him then and she doesn’t love him now.

She has to make him understand.

“You told me once you were in love with me from the first moment you saw me,” she starts and then stops. She takes a deep breath, trying to tamp down the growing hysteria inside her.

“You said you took one look at me and you were hooked. Full stop. No doubts.”

“Obviously, I was a fool,” he says flatly.

She swallows hard. There’s nothing in his expression that reveals how much he loves her—all she sees is rage, devastating in its intensity.

“How you felt about me then—well, that’s exactly how I feel about you now. But that wasn’t true at the beginning, so when he called I went out with him. You and I hadn’t discussed being exclusive—"

He puts a hand up to stop her, his blue eyes gleaming with contempt.


	4. Chapter 4

“Don’t you dare try to tell me you thought I’d be okay with you seeing other people, MacKenzie,” he hisses. “You knew I wouldn’t.”

“You’re right—I knew you wouldn’t—which is why I didn’t tell you. I was still hung up on him because he’d rejected me and honestly, I wasn’t sure how I felt about you. So for a few months, I was seeing both of you—it only happened a few times—”

“ _Fucking_ both of us, you mean. You were _fucking_ both of us. And, by the way, did you use a condom with him or do I need to be checked for STDs?”

“We used condoms. I wouldn’t have put you at risk.”

“So you drew the line there. Very considerate of you.”

She swallows hard and goes on.

“After a little while I realized I was hanging on to him because he was familiar. The truth is, you made me see things—made me feel things—and it scared me. You’re a man and he’s a boy. The stakes were always going to be higher with you. I realized I needed to grow up and that if I wanted a real relationship, I needed to stop being afraid of being a grown-up. I’m in my thirties but until two years ago I had the emotional maturity of an adolescent. You made me grow up, Will, and I fell in love with you. And when I did, it was deeper, richer, more exhilarating than anything I’ve ever known. I realized that you’re the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, so I broke it off with him. I love _you_ , Will. So much. You have to believe me. I love you.’

He hates hearing this story, hates hearing that she’s anything less than the woman he’d put on a pedestal, the amazing, perfect woman he’d fallen in love with because not only does it mean he can’t trust her, it means he can’t trust himself—can’t trust his own judgment: if she could do this—well, then he never knew her at all. Not for one second would he have ever believed she was capable of this. Not her. Not his MacKenzie—not the love of his life.

“Did it ever occur to you—even once—to let me know that you weren’t sure about us? That I was just a trial subscription?” he says hoarsely, eyes full of pain.

Then the rage is back.  “We’re not talking about a one-night stand, MacKenzie. That— _mayb_ e that—I could _try_ to understand. But not —not—” He stops, tries again. Tries to find the words to convey just how deeply she’s betrayed him.

“You lied to me for four months straight—you looked me in the eye and told me you loved me while you were screwing another man.” He shakes his head incredulously. “If you think I am _ever_ going to get past that you’re out of your fucking mind.”

“I never told you I loved you while I was seeing him,” she says reflexively. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

She regrets it the moment the words are out of her mouth.

“Oh, you wouldn’t lie about that,” he parrots her. “You’d lie about anything else but not that. You’re _principled_ about your lies.”

“You told me you loved me early on but I didn’t say it back until after I stopped seeing him,” she says defensively, unwilling to cede her point, even though she knows she’s just made a huge tactical error.

_Fuck._

Okay, so maybe she’s telling the truth about that. He’d felt something was holding her back for the first little while, that his admittedly over-the-top gifts had made her uncomfortable, but he’d chalked that up to her wanting to leave a privileged upbringing behind. It never occurred to him it was because she was fucking someone else on the side.

He can’t stand to look at her (well, can’t afford to look at her, really, because if he does he’s afraid he’ll start believing her lies) but he has to make her see how truly fucked up she is because it’s obvious she still doesn’t get it.

He takes a step toward her, fists clenched. The hysteria coils low in her belly but she doesn’t try to back away from him; instead, she stands her ground, all the while fighting the urge to lean into him, to force her body into the spot where she belongs.

He studies her for a moment—as if she was a bug on a pin—and it finally hits him that what he thinks, what he _feels_ , never mattered to her because to her, he’s just an object—a place to hang her coat for a while.

He slowly unclenches his fists, puts his hands down to his sides and says in wonder, “It’s all about you, isn’t it?  _You_ weren’t sure about us, so _you_ decided to see someone behind my back, to not have an honest conversation about it. Then _you_ decided it was time to tell me about it. _You_ decided you’d stay out in the fucking hallway last night and then _you_ decided you’d leave only after I hear you out. What I feel or think doesn’t even enter into it —I’m just a prop in your play.”

“Will—“

“Fuck you, MacKenzie. _Fuck you._ You’re not my puppet master and I deserve better. Either you resign or I will.”

“I will. I’ll resign.”

“Fine. You said your piece. Now get out. I never want to see you again.”

“Will – “

“Get out.”

She has two choices. She can do as he asks or stand her ground. She tells herself it’s not just for her sake that she wants to fight for this. She knows she makes him happy; she can (or could, until last night) see it in his eyes whenever he looked at her. Charlie and Will’s sister had both told her they’d never seen Will so content, so light, so relaxed, so full of joy as when he was with her.

What she has with him is real. Maybe it wasn’t in the beginning but it is now and she has to make him see that, so she takes a step toward him. Raises her hand to his cheek and cups it gently.

He stands there, breathing heavily, trying not to lean into her touch.

It doesn’t matter if it’s all been a lie. She’s everything to him—she’d introduced him to a part of himself he hadn’t known existed, brought him to fever pitches with her touch, made him feel loved as he had never felt loved before. After experiencing all that, how the fuck is he supposed to live without her?


	5. Chapter 5

She can see the emotions play across his face, the confusion in his eyes. She has to convince him of what she knows to be true. She loves him. She’s loved him for the last two years. Since the moment she fell in love with him she’s been all in, right there with him and that’s every bit as true as the fact that she’d cheated on him in the first place.

She can’t let the latter outweigh the former in his head.

“100% of what we have now is real, Billy. Maybe it was only 95% in the beginning but it’s been 100% for the last two years,” she says softly, as if reading his mind.

“So fucking your ex-boyfriend behind my back only counts as 5%? That’s rich.”

“You’re right. I did that. And then I fell in love with you - completely, head-over-heels in love with you. And that’s where I am right now. I love you, Will,” she says desperately, her voice breaking, and then the words are tumbling out, one after the other, propelled by despair, by the expression on his face that tells her it may well be too late.

“I didn’t then—not at first—not because you weren’t absolutely wonderful but because he’d rejected me and I was hung up on him because of that. I couldn’t see you for the man you are, Will—I couldn’t see _anything_. All I could see were my insecurities, which were telling me that a man like you couldn’t possibly be in love with a reject like me, and if you thought you were, it was only a matter of time before you got to know me and rejected me, too. But _I love you, Billy_. So much. _You have to believe me_. What can I do? Tell me how to fix this. _Please_.”

The tears are rolling down her cheeks again and she swipes them away, reaches for his hand and grabs it tightly.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to hear this because he doesn’t want to believe her. And he can feel himself starting to, because he wants to, because he wants to get back to being in love with her. Can he believe her? Should he believe her? She’s looking at him with those liquid eyes filled with tears and she certainly looks sincere (though if he casts back to those first four months he thought she looked sincere then, too).

What should he do? God, he wants to tell her to get the fuck out, to decimate her, but he also wants their life back, their future back.

He wants to believe she’s telling the truth because she’s the love of his life and he needs her more than he’s ever needed anyone. If she’s telling the truth, he can have what he needs. If he chooses to believe her, maybe they can fix this.

Then his ego reminds him to think about his self-respect.

_She turned you into a cuckold. Are you really going to let her get away with it?_

He can’t. He _won’t._

“You make me sick, MacKenzie,” he says, his voice hard and betraying none of the regret and uncertainty that’s making his eyes sting and his throat close.

But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. He has to finish it. 

“I can’t stand to look at you,” he says.

She blinks. Recoils as if he’s just slapped her.

“Get. Out. Now.” he says slowly, consonants cold and clipped, hard pauses between the words.

That does it. She nods, swallows hard, turns on her heel and walks out.

He watches her go, slams the door and heads straight to his broom closet where he gets two garbage bags and sets to work ridding his apartment of any traces of her.

When she gets home, she faxes her resignation to Charlie—effective immediately—and supplies him with the names of a few people who can sub for her until he finds a replacement. Charlie phones her immediately, asking what the hell happened but she only tells him she and Will have broken up and that they’ve decided one of them needs to resign. Charlie tries to talk her out of it, but she’s resolute. She goes to the office, packs her things and leaves the key to Will’s apartment on his desk.

Three weeks later, Charlie tells him she’s going to Afghanistan. He spends a sleepless night fighting the urge to call her, to beg her not to go. How dare she put her life in danger? How dare she deprive him of the opportunity to run into her, to pretend he doesn’t care?

She’s the one who fucked up—why is he the one forced to spend twelve hours a day in a newsroom in which everything reminds him of her, where the staff stare at him pityingly when they think he’s not looking?

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He’s survived worse than this.

He lets her go.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next three years, MacKenzie grows up. She takes a long, hard look at herself and finally understands where she’d gone wrong. He’d been right. When she’d cheated on him, it _had_ been all about her.

She does her best not to think about Will McAvoy but he’s like a phantom limb. She misses him every day, aches for him, berates herself for the pain she’d caused him. Thoughts of him rise up, unbidden, and she forces herself to quash them down.

Until one morning, when she’s been back in the States for six months, unable to get a job, a Google alert tells her he’s speaking at Northwestern. She hesitates but a moment before getting out her credit card and booking a plane ticket. She needs to see him. Maybe if she does, she can unearth the taproot of her feelings for him, and finally be free of him.

It doesn’t work out that way. She takes one look at him across the sea of people in front of her and her heart starts racing triple time. And when he finally looks in her direction, looks into her eyes, his gaze is as sharp, knowing and piercing as it ever was.

She's nearly undone by the connection that still pulses between them.

Then her professional brain kicks in and she starts producing, writing the words on a thick pad of sketch paper. She's grateful she’s still got the massive black marker in her purse - the one she’d used to label the cardboard boxes of tapes she’d lugged from Afghanistan.

When his tirade is over, she files out of the auditorium, trying to gather the courage to go and find him, to see if the thing she’d felt when they’d locked eyes was only one-sided. But then she stops herself. Is she doing it again?

 _She’d_ made the decision to turn up, to flash those signs. Doesn’t she owe it to him to let him decide if he wants to leave her—leave them—in the past? She turns away, heads for the exit, telling herself she’ll leave it up to him.

He’d seen her—she’s sure of it. He can find her if he wants to. She has to let it be. For his sake, she has to let it be.

But now he’s called her over. And she’s standing in front of him, unsure of what to say, how to bridge the distance between them.

For the past three years, he’s told himself (commanded himself, really) that he never wants to see her again, that the woman he’d fallen in love with was a pipedream—a figment of his imagination who doesn’t exist and never did. And now here she is, standing in front of him, looking as beautiful as ever - if a little too thin, a little too exhausted—but here she is, his MacKenzie.

He’s not sure what he wants to say, exactly, but he needs to talk to her. Alone. But where? He feels around behind him, grasps a doorknob in his hand and turns it, delighted to discover it's unlocked.

When he sees the room is empty, he leads her into it without saying a word, then locks the door.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, has no plan except that his body seems to be in charge and he can’t let her get away.

‘Why are you here?” he asks, and she shrugs, worries her bottom lip a little before looking up at him.

 _Jesus, that face._ He’s having a hard time pretending he doesn’t care.

“I came—" she begins, and then stops. “I wanted—" but he’s staring at her and she doesn’t know what he’s thinking, and what can she say, really, that doesn’t sound idiotic or, worse, reveal the fact that she’s still hopelessly, helplessly in love with him.

“I didn’t think you’d see me,” she says softly.

“Really? With those signs?”

“Oh—that?”

She gives a hollow laugh. “I was just producing.”

He snorts.

She looks at him then, her natural fortitude back.

“Why did you bring me into this classroom?”

He swallows hard.

“I saw you—in the audience—I thought—”

He clears his throat. “I saw you and I wanted—"

And then he shrugs sheepishly.

“I don’t know what I wanted. Maybe I didn’t want you to leave without saying hello.”

He forces the words to sound lighthearted—as if saying “hello” is all he wants from her.

She blinks, and he thinks maybe she’s disappointed.

“Well, hello. I should go,” she says briskly and the tide recedes, exposing the remains of his broken heart—bits of detritus in the sand.

“Wait—what?”

“My plane leaves in a few hours,” she tells him. “I have to go back to the hotel first—to pack—and, well—you know.”

She hopes she sounds chipper and not devastated.

Coming here was a mistake. She needs to focus—make her hands work so she can unlock the door and get out of here. Then she can dissolve into tears. He can’t know what he’s done to her—what being so close to him again has done to her. He can’t know that the ache emanating from deep within her body—a longing for the past, for the right to be able to touch him again—is choking her.

“Oh—okay.”

He nods, his mind working overtime and before he can stop himself he’s smiling in what he hopes is a winning way and wondering aloud, “Can’t you take a later flight? I mean—you just got here.”

Sweet. A flicker of hope. She looks at him in surprise and shakes, no—jerks—her head. Forces herself to remember he’s just being polite.

“No—I have to get this flight if I want to be there by nine o'clock tomorrow morning.”

He takes a step toward her. Her mouth is dry and she swallows hard, trying to focus.

“Where—why—why do you have to be there at nine?”

“Interview—London. I already rescheduled it once."

_Yes, yes, I’m sorry—I understand—can’t be helped—it's a family matter. I look forward to meeting you._

He doesn’t need to know why—that she’d done it as soon as she’d booked her ticket to Chicago.

“For a story?” he says, and now he’s two feet away from her. She’s staring at his chest and that’s a good thing because at least she has somewhere to look besides his face.

She shakes her head, again swallows hard. “Job—BBC.”

Apparently, Charlie Skinner’s friends don’t care about her PTSD, that she only made it back from Afghanistan with half her marbles.

He takes another step toward her and she can smell his soap. He’s practically on top of her now and she clenches her fingers into fists to keep them from darting out and pulling him against her.

"Is that where you’re living now?”

She shakes her head. “DC.”

She can tell he’s fighting some internal battle, trying to decide which one of them will lose, which one will win.

“Oh—okay—well, it was—good to see you,” he says awkwardly, the flame of his desire petering out, drowned by inertia. He’s suddenly exhausted.

She loses.

Quickly, she turns the handle, opens the door, and then she’s gone.


	7. Chapter 7

He stands there stupidly for a moment, stunned.

_What the fuck is he doing?_

The knowledge that he’s just allowed his future happiness to walk out the door spurs him into action and suddenly he’s flinging the door open so hard it slams into the wall. Then he’s racing down the hallway, calling after her.

‘MacKenzie!” he shouts, and once again, the crowd stares at him in wonder.

She stops, turns around to face him and he sees that her eyes are red-rimmed and filled with tears.

“MacKenzie—" he says, and starts walking towards her.

She wipes her eyes angrily and tries to smile, all the while fighting an overwhelming urge to turn around and run.

Everything she feels for him is just below the surface and she doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to tamp it down. If she doesn’t leave now, she’s going to dissolve into a bawling, sobbing mess.

“Will,” she pleads. _“Please.”_

_Why is he torturing her? What does he want from her?_

“Wait,” he says impulsively, grabbing her hand. He’s on autopilot now, acting purely on instinct. If he lets her go now, will he ever see her again? Will he ever have this chance again?

_Chance for what, you idiot? What the fuck do you think you’re doing? She cheated on you. Fucked another man while she was with you. Lied about it for four months. Are you really going to let her off the hook?_

God, he hates that voice. The sneering, all-knowing voice in his head that keeps him safe, the one that makes him react with sarcasm and cold condescension to every perceived slight. He hates it because it dominates every other voice in his head, crowds out all the other voices that are trying to get his attention, like the ones whispering that maybe she _was_ telling the truth, that maybe she _did_ love him as much as he loved her, maybe he _doesn’t_ have to be alone for the rest of his life, that maybe forgiving her _doesn’t_ mean he’s a sad, cuckolded sack.

He knows what he wants, goddammit. Despite everything that’s happened between them, he wants _her_ and she’s standing right there. For the first time in three years, she’s standing right there.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, has no plan: all he knows is that he can’t let her walk out of his life again.

“MacKenzie,“ he says again.

She looks into his eyes and is startled by what she sees. She knows her sudden appearance has caught him off-guard, that his mind is working overtime trying to figure out what the fuck he’s doing, and because of that, all shields are down. The way he’s looking at her now is nothing like the last image she has of him, the one she carries around in her head, of the cold, condescending man who’d ejected her from his life. This is the Will she knew, the man she fell in love with. 

Suddenly, the throngs of people are back, crowding around them.

He glances up and realizes his idiotic tirade has unleashed the hounds of hell. If he wants to talk to MacKenzie, they need to get away from here. _Now._

Now he's got a microphone stuck in his face, wielded by some asshat lacking sufficient powers of observation to understand this isn’t a good time.

“Will—can we ask you some questions? You raised some—"

"Not now,” Will barks. Then, to MacKenzie: “I have to get out of here. Will you come with me?”

“Where?” she says. She has no idea what he’s offering now. Friendship?

His mind works quickly. “My hotel.”

He sees her hesitate, “Will, I told you—I have to get back – “

The cacophony surrounding them is growing, more microphones being stuck in his face.

“No comment,” he barks, never taking his eyes off MacKenzie.

Will’s handler appears beside him, clearly relieved to have located his charge.

“Mr. McAvoy—we have to—"

“Please,” Will says to MacKenzie, almost pleading. “Just for a few minutes. A car can take you back to your hotel. You’ll have time to pack.”

He vaguely realizes that what he’s just said has been caught on tape, and he hopes to Christ no one realizes that this is the EP who screwed him over. Their breakup had been all over the tabloids when it happened because Brian fucking Brenner had leaked her infidelity to the press.

“Alright,” she says quickly, recognizing the danger they’re in.

“Where’s the car?” he says to his handler.

“This way, Mr. McAvoy.”

Tugging MacKenzie by the hand, he fights the crowd surging around him. “Come on,” he says to her over his shoulder.

“MacKenzie!” a reporter calls out.

_Shit._

“Are you two back together?” someone else calls out.

The air around them crackles with excitement as suddenly, every reporter in the vicinity recognizes what they’ve stumbled upon.

 _It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter,_ Will tells himself, fighting through the clutch of reporters. He keeps his head down, his only focus on getting to the car.

MacKenzie can feel a panic attack coming on.

She’s done it again—ruined it again.

_This will be all over the news and he’s going to be humiliated. Again. Oh God, why can’t I stop hurting this man?_

And then, _Shit —there goes my interview. “Family matter,” my ass. The BBC will get hold of this, for sure._

She pushes the thought away and keeps her head down as she walks as fast as she can, trying to keep up with Will’s long strides as they pick their way through the crowd.

Suddenly, Will trips over a reporter’s feet. He is forced to let go of her hand and she finds herself marooned in a sea of reporters who want a piece of her. Seven microphones are thrust in her face but her lungs aren’t working well enough to respond. They aren’t working well enough to do _anything_ because she’s in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. Her ability to handle these sorts of skirmishes was severely compromised in Afghanistan, and the current sensation, of being hunted, is a bit too close to what she felt in the moments before she was stabbed.

She has to get to Will before she passes out, so she uses what’s left of her breath to call out to him.

“Will!” she cries.

She puts her head down, stares at her shoes and tries desperately to push everything out of her mind except how to breathe.

_Breathe, breathe, breathe._

_In. Out. Slow. In. Out._

_Breathe._


	8. Chapter 8

He’s standing on his tiptoes, scanning the mob, trying to locate MacKenzie. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when he hears her, the panic evident in her voice.

He whirls around in the general direction of the sound and sees that she's standing in the middle of some 15 reporters, all of them thrusting microphones at her. She's clearly in distress: her head is down, her hands are on her knees and he knows instantly that she's in the middle of a panic attack.

Enraged that these people are acting like a pack of animals, that they're ignoring the fact that she's obviously in trouble, he comes out swinging.

“Move!” he shouts to the people blocking his way as tries to make his way back to her.

There’s a row of cameramen between them and he can’t find his way through – they’re surrounding him, heckling him, making his head ache with their idiotic questions.

“Will—are you and MacKenzie back together?”

“No comment,” he barks reflexively, stomping over cables and kicking portable monitors along the way.

He looks up to gauge the distance between them and sees that MacKenzie has lifted her head and is now desperately scanning the crowd for him.

_Where are you?! Don’t leave me here alone. Please._

As if she’d said it aloud, he calls, “I'm right here, Kenz. I’m coming.”

Then, to the people in his way: “Get out of the _way,_ goddammit,” he says, shouting above the din, unceremoniously shoving one reporter to the side.

_“Get away from her. Move!”_

Suddenly, he’s right back next to her, grabbing her hand with his own and brandishing his other fist like a weapon, forcing the crowd to step back. He whirls around to do the same to the people behind them, hauling MacKenzie with him as he orders them to _back up_ , _back off._

Most of them do, but two reporters stand their ground. Will slings his arm over MacKenzie's shoulders, tucking her safely into his side. Then he marches them straight towards the offending duo who are blocking their way.

“ _Back off_ ,” he growls, his voice low and menacing.

Will’s expression, both furious and murderous, automatically makes them take a step back.

Suddenly, Will’s handler appears at their side and points them in the direction of the car.

“This way, Mr. McAvoy.”

MacKenzie buries her face in Will’s side. He’s got his arm slung lightly over her head to try to shield her from the microphones while at the same time giving her room to breathe.

She can’t see where she’s going. She’s following along as best she can and her breathing is coming in short, clipped gasps. She’s doing her best to focus on Will’s warmth, his familiar scent, and the only hope she has of making it out of this mob with dignity intact lies in the nearness of Will, in the ability of his warmth to do what every anxiety medication on the market hasn’t been able to do for her during the last six months: calm her down. 

Finally, finally, they make it to the car and he helps her in, slamming the door behind them.

She’s gulping for air now, crying, and, instinctively, he reaches out and pulls her against him.

“I’m sorry, Will—I’m so sorry,” she cries, face buried in his chest. “I should never have come—it’s going to be all over the news—I’m so sorry!”

He closes his eyes against the flashbulbs blinding him from outside the car and reflexively tries to soothe her.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Still on autopilot, he is seconds away from dropping a kiss into her hair when his psyche goes into overdrive.

_What the fuck are you DOING? it screams. Could this BE any worse? It was bad enough the first time around – now they’ve got you on camera hugging the woman who cheated on you! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Get it together, man!_

A moment before his lips touch her hair, he jerks his head up and opens his eyes. The flashbulbs are still popping and he closes his eyes again, exhausted. It’s too late. He’s already been caught.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter anymore. It isn’t up to him. The world will interpret the images of he and MacKenzie huddled together in the back of the car, her face buried in his chest, however they like.

At that moment, he makes a conscious decision to let it go.

This is his life.

 _His_ life.

It doesn’t belong to the press, no matter how stupid he looks.

“Are you okay?” he says softly, and she pulls back to look up at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with tears, and without thinking, he brushes her hair back from her forehead.

“Yes,” she says, smiling weakly. “I’m so sorry—" she says again, but stops when he shakes his head.

“Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

_Of course_ _it’s her fault, you jackass! She’s the one who came here and now she’s made a fool of you —again!_

He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and she nods, unsure of what to do next. She’s still looking up at him, her neck tilted at an awkward angle, and she knows she should put some distance between them, but she doesn’t want to. Not yet. Not until she has to.

Tentatively, slowly, she lays her head down and rests it in the spot on Will McAvoy’s chest that used to be hers alone.

He doesn’t pull away.


	9. Chapter 9

Both of them are content to let the silence fill the small space between them, using the time to regroup, to try to figure out what comes next.

MacKenzie alternates between luxuriating in Will's warmth and trying not to get her hopes up.

She knows he's still fighting an internal war, one the _other_ Will wins most of the time.

Although Will's eyes are fixed on the road ahead, he is preoccupied with two things: how right it feels to have this woman tucked into his chest and wondering what the fuck he's going to say to her.

_What just happened? What am I doing?_

He has five minutes to figure it out.

Five minutes to come up with a plausible explanation for why he asked her back to his hotel.

Five minutes to decide what he’s capable of giving her.

_Am I in or out?_

_Do I forgive her or not?_

_Is she even interested in me anymore?_

The problem is that he can’t think straight. Not with her head against his chest and not with the domineering part of his psyche setting off all the alarm bells in his head.

_Jesus Christ. WHAT are you doing, you asshole? She made a fool of you!_

He doesn’t know which Will will be in charge when they get to the hotel or which one will win this fight.

Will it be the one who rejected her or the one who wants her back?

_I don’t know. I don’t know._

Sighing, he rests his chin lightly on the top of her head.

When she feels him drop a kiss into her hair, she's too stunned to breathe, too stunned to move.

She waits.

Moments later, she feels him rest his palm gently on the crown of her head, and slowly, slowly, slide it down to the nape of her neck.

He's tentative at first but when she doesn't resist, he does it more confidently.

It's something they used to do for each other when they were together before, whenever one of them was stressed or in pain.

Memories come rushing back to her: of carding her fingers through his hair after shows that had gotten away from him.

Of trying to ward off his headaches by settling his head in her lap and massaging his scalp and temples.

He would sigh, gradually relaxing as some of the tension dissipated and when the pain was gone or made more manageable, he'd open his eyes and stare up at her with gratitude. Then he would reach up and pull her face down to press a searing kiss to her lips.

_Maybe, maybe we have a chance._

_Oh God, please let us have a chance._

\----

Her stomach drops when they get to the hotel and find that it’s surrounded by the paparazzi.

"We should go somewhere else, Will," she says, staring up at him in alarm. "Let's go to my hotel."

"They'll be there, too, Mac." Will tells her.

"Isn't there a back entrance?" Will asks the driver, who confirms that there is.

"Let's go that way, then."

When they arrive, MacKenzie is relieved to see only a dozen or so reporters, compared to the 40 crews she'd seen out front.

"Don't worry, Mac," Will reassured her. I'm not going to let them get to me. I can take whatever they dish out. If they start getting in your face, though, all bets are off," he said. 

MacKenzie shakes her head. "Listen, Will—it was bad before because there were so many people around but I think I can handle this motley group. It's important that I try. So if they start giving me a hard time, don't intervene. If I need your help, I'll ask for it."

"OK, you're the boss."

Charlie has gotten a security detail together, which approaches the car.

Will gets out and extends his hand to MacKenzie.

She takes it, gratefully, and starts to move toward the hotel, head held high. 

Then the questions begin.

“Will – when did you forgive her?”

MacKenzie quickly looks at Will. Although he doesn’t answer right away, she can see from the way his jaw clenches and the veins stick out in his neck that the question has embarrassed him. He feels raw, exposed and angry.   

“No comment,” he answers, monotone, staring straight ahead.

“MacKenzie – are you still seeing the journalist you were embedded with?”

MacKenzie jerks to a stop and Will looks at her, confusion on his face.

_What journalist?_

"No," she responds firmly, looking the reporter straight in the eye and silently hoping he gets run over on his way out of the parking garage.

"Really? I talked to him a few minutes ago and that's not what  _he_  thinks." 

She knows full well the reporter is trying to provoke a response, hoping she will admit it or that Will will punch him in the nose but she is powerless to stop the devastating effects this line of questioning is already having on the man holding her hand. She can almost see the curtains come down over his eyes as he stares at her. The wide-open, loving man from a few moments ago is even now being hidden away. 

Will tries to shake it off, to concentrate only on getting them inside the hotel, but the question has its effect and the warmth he felt towards her only moments ago begins to evaporate.

_She’s seeing someone. And she’s humiliated me. Again. What the fuck was I thinking?_

He drops her hand.

Desperate to halt the destruction, MacKenzie stops in her tracks and whips out her cell phone.

"Quiet," she says to the reporters. "Don't say anything." 

She starts a FaceTime call with George, the reporter she was embedded with. They'd known each other platonically in Peshawar (she was still smarting over her breakup with Will and he was carrying on a long-distance relationship with someone from Leeds). When he'd confessed he'd had a crush on her, they'd dated via Skype for a while, until MacKenzie told him it was no use. She was in love with Will and always would be.

George picks up the call.

"George, did you talk to...," MacKenzie says, shoving the camera in the face of the reporter who asked the question. "...this man a few minutes ago?"

"Whoa, Mac, pull back. Is that the guy from ABC? I can't see—"

She puts the camera to his press pass."...Yes. Rob Thompson from ABC News," she says loudly enough for the other reporters to hear. And record.

Rob looks distinctly uncomfortable.

"George, when Rob asked if we were still seeing each other, what did you tell him?"

"That we broke up."

"Did you record the conversation?"

"Of course. I'm not an idiot, Mac. What's going on? Why are you surrounded by reporters? is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. Can you message the recording to me right away?"

"Sure—call me later, let me know you're okay."

"I will. Goodbye."

She looks at Will, who is staring at her clinically, dispassionately. The blinds are down.

_Goddamnit, she seethes internally._

She knows what's going through his mind. Although she had every right to date, someone, the mere mention of another man has triggered all Will's insecurities related to her affair with Brian.

She turns to Rob.

"Let me ask you something, Rob—hell— _all_ of you," she says, addressing the crowd. "Your job is to do whatever it takes to get a response out of me —or him," she said, gesturing at Will, "or whomever else you're chasing after on any given day, right? Do you—any of you—" she said, looking at the other reporters—" _ever_ stop to think about the effect you're having on the people you're goading? Oh, I know, you don't give a shit about us but I want you to know that we have actual feelings and that what you say has an effect. So I'm asking you, one journalist to another, to be more responsible. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't appreciate it if the shoe were on the other foot and let me just say, if I ever have the opportunity to test that theory, you can bet your ass I will."

A beat.

Then they start up again.

"Will—when did you forgive her?"

Seething, she shakes her head and follows Will inside. He doesn't look at her.

A cold feeling builds in the pit of her stomach and she knows without a doubt that the next Will she encounters will be the one who ejected her from his life.


	10. Chapter 10

They make it inside the hotel, the doors closing heavily behind them.

Fighting the urge to flee, MacKenzie allows herself to be led to the elevators where the security detail pushes the button for the penthouse suite. Aware of the physical and emotional space between them, she looks early at Will and sees that he is pretending to be deep in thought, looking anywhere but at her.

As they ascend, she tries to keep the rising tide of hysteria in her stomach. Despite several Peabody awards, her absolute competence in the newsroom, her ability to survive a war, a stabbing and myriad other mishaps, she's startled to realize that even now, one disapproving look from Will is all it takes to send her equilibrium out the window. She leans heavily against the elevator's mirrored glass, looks down at her shoes and grips the handrails tightly behind her. 

The bell rings and the elevator doors open into Will's suite. He motions for MacKenzie to step out first.

“Have a seat—wherever,” he says, waving his hand awkwardly around the room. Her mind flashes back to the last time they were in a hotel room together. They’d been in London for work and MacKenzie had thrilled Will by presenting him with tickets to a musical that was only playing in the West End. They’d spent the rest of the next day in bed, only stopping their exploration of each other’s bodies long enough to order room service.

She swallows hard, already on the verge of tears. The contrast between then and now is devastating. Before, he would have helped her off with her jacket, settled her on the couch with a glass of her favorite wine, and then gone to prepare her a perfectly temperate bubble bath. He’d have lain his iPod on the bathroom counter, tuned to her favorite songs and she would have sunk into the bath, luxuriating in the music coming through the waterproof speakers he’d purchased just for her, and the knowledge that he was hers alone. He would usually be ensconced in bed when she emerged from bathing (no matter the hour) and he’d welcome her to bed with wide open arms ready to enfold her in his embrace.

Will’s thoughts have been travelling along similar lines. He tries to shake them off but the happy memories of past hotel stays assault him: the long hours in bed, completely in tune with one another, the laughter, the teasing, the mutual accord—all the reminders that once upon a time, they were perfectly suited to one another.

 _Why did she have to ruin it? We were so_ happy _together._

His alter ego tries to jump in and tell him he’s dead wrong, that _he_ was the only happy one but Will doesn’t buy it. He **_knows_ ** (knew?) what a happy MacKenzie looks like – as surely as he recognizes the melancholy and unhappy one currently seated across the room.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Will says brusquely as he pulls a Diet Coke from the mini-bar.

“No, thank you,” she says.

“Listen, Mac, I’m not sure I can get you out of here in 30 minutes with all the paparazzi hanging around but I’ll try to get you out of here as quick as I can.”

He sees her wince, but no matter. He will _not_ be made a fool of again. Well, any more than he has already been today.

She nods and lets the silence fill the space between them. She can feel him slipping away from her. She’d felt such _hope_ on the car ride over but that now all she feels is despair. The chasm between them seems to widen with every passing second and she’s not sure how the fuck she’s going to get across.  _There has to be some way to stop the progression._

“Will—what the reporter said—" she begins, but he cuts her off.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s exactly what was supposed to happen."

Dismissing her, he says, "I should call Charlie, ask him how he wants to handle this.”

He picks up the phone and turns his back on her.

She studies his hands over his shoulder, watching his fingers press the buttons. They’re trembling.

He’s not completely indifferent, then.


	11. Chapter 11

Is it just infatuation for her? A chemical, physical attraction that should be dismissed out-of-hand for its baseness, its disconnection from her intellect? On the contrary, she thinks. It is precisely  _because_  their intellectual connection is so powerful that their physical one was— _is —_so extraordinary.

She can feel it now, bubbling, shimmering, just below the surface. It’s pulling her towards him with ferocious intensity, despite the  _other_  Will’s attempt to shut it down. It’s a current that runs between them, picking up strength at every juncture, every return to the other’s end.

 _This_  is what’s real.  _This_  is what keeps her rooted to the spot even now, despite the cold war the reporter’s question has ignited between them. Everything above the surface of their desire is just window dressing.  _This_  is what exists between them—a symbiosis of love, desire, and intellect.

The body doesn’t lie.

She knows from experience that Will—this one and the other one—feels it, too. He's facing her now, and she can see it in the way he just pretended not to stare at her as she was looking through her purse. She can tell he’s only half-paying attention to what Millie is saying, so consumed is he with trying to mask his feelings. She can see that his pupils are dilated and his face is flushed and his feet are pointing directly at her (a tell-tale sign if there ever was one that he is deeply attracted to her—or so she’d read in a magazine on the flight from DC).

She’s only been back in Will’s orbit for two hours and she already knows that all future attempts to date people who are not Will McAvoy are doomed. She has never felt for another man what she feels for Will McAvoy, whose company these last two hours has awakened a sense of loss in her that’s as deeply felt at this moment as it was on the night he’d ejected her from his life.

She’s sure he regrets inviting her back to his hotel (for whatever fucking reason he did so), but she'll take it because he’s here and this may be her last chance to get through to him.

Suddenly, a new thought flutters to surface.

_What the fuck am I going to tell the BBC? A family matter took me to Chicago where I just happened to run into Will McAvoy…what are the odds?_

It’s seven o’clock in the evening London time, so if she can't make it out of town tonight, she figures she has a few hours to come up with some lame-ass excuse about why she has to postpone the interview again.

She brings her attention back to Will, who’s put the phone down while he waits for Charlie to get off another call.

As if reading MacKenzie’s thoughts, Will asks, “Do you need to call anyone? The _journalist_?” he says sarcastically, emphasizing the last word.

She pretends not to notice the dig and shakes her head.

He still has no fucking idea what he wants to say to her, but he figures he’ll come up with something. Everything he’d wanted to tell her 15 minutes ago has dried up in light of the revelation about her boyfriend—broken up or not—and now he just wants her gone: out of his hotel room and out of his life. He doesn’t want to think of MacKenzie McHale, with her lilting smile, ever again.

“May I use the bathroom?” she says, interrupting his train of thought. “I’d like to wash my face.”

“Sure, it’s—"

Then Charlie’s on the line, and Will is waving his hand in the general direction of the bathroom.

She makes her way there and closes the door as she hears him say, “Hey Charlie… yeah, we’re okay… yeah, she’s here, yeah, she’s okay. Listen…”

She closes the door behind her, places her palms down on the vanity, looks down and takes a deep breath. When she looks up, she sees her face is red and splotchy and her hair is tangled from being buried under Will’s arm. She picks up Will’s wooden bristle brush and her eyes fill with tears.

It’s the one she’d put in his Christmas stocking four years ago. She'd had it engraved with his initials. It was the one thing of hers he hadn’t the heart to throw out.  He hadn’t remembered she was the one who’d given it to him until after he found out she’d gone to Afghanistan. He didn’t know why he kept it.

She takes a deep breath, brushes her hair and splashes water on her face. She notices a sweatshirt hanging on the back of the door. She touches it, then slowly brings her nose to it. It smells like Will. Earthy and sweet.

Then she opens the door, ready to face whatever comes next.

She’s here, he’s here. The rest is up to him.


	12. Chapter 12

When she returns, she hears Will saying, gruffly, “Charlie, what the fuck was I supposed to say? I know vertigo medicine isn’t a great excuse but _you_ try thinking of something when you can’t think straight…”

He looks up as she settles herself in the chair across from him and an expression she doesn’t recognize flits across his face.

“Yeah…yeah,” he looks away then, and rubs his eyes tiredly. “Okay, yeah … yeah… _what_?”

His eyes suddenly swing back to her face.

“No. _No._ _Abso-fucking-lutely_ _not_ ,” he says angrily, turning his back on her.

“Just forget it. We’ll think of something else. Okay, talk you soon.”

He puts down the phone, turns around to face her again.

“Charlie says hello.”

She doesn’t answer.

He waits a beat.

“He says we should lay low tonight and that he’s working on a plan to get us out of here tomorrow morning. I’m working on a plan to get you out of here tonight, though, so don’t worry. You won’t miss your interview.”

He turns away from her then, starts furiously texting someone on his BlackBerry. That does it. Suddenly, she is absolutely certain this is not going to go her way. He doesn't want her. He'll never give her a chance to fix this. Why is she torturing herself?  She picks up her purse, notebook, and jacket, heads for the elevator and presses the button for the ground floor. If she can outsmart the Mujahideen in Pakistan, she’s pretty sure she can escape the notice of the milk-fed paparazzi in Chicago.

“Hey,” he says, hearing the clang of the bell. “Where are you going? Charlie wants us to lay low until we’ve got another plan.”

The tears are already streaming down her face, so she doesn’t dare look at him.

“I’ve got a plan,” she says over her shoulder as she steps into the waiting car. “Goodbye, Will.”

The doors start to close and he’s out of his chair like a shot, striding towards the elevator. He shoves his fist through the rapidly closing doors, forcing them open.

She’s still got her back to him but she’s leaning on the handrails now, her shoulders shaking with great, heaving sobs.

“MacKenzie,” he says gently, putting his hands on her shoulders, and turning her around, fighting the urge to draw her into his arms.

"MacKenzie,” he says again. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, unwilling to put what she’s feeling into words.

Not here—not to _this_ Will.

“MacKenzie, if I’ve done something to upset you…” he tries again, honestly bewildered.

_She’s dating people, she's obviously over me, she’s got an interview in London tomorrow. I’m just trying to fix things so she can get back to her life (ok, and so I can forget her) as quickly as possible._

_What the fuck is she crying about?_

Her head is still down, so he gently puts his finger under her chin to bring it up, and when he looks into her eyes, his heart fucking stops. Goddammit if she’s not giving him the same look she used to give him right before she kissed him.

 _What the actual fuck? You've been dating people! If you were still in love with me there's no way you could even think about dating other people!_ he thinks angrily to himself, completely forgetting his own track record. 

The rage surges through him and he tries to back up into the suite. Before he can, however, the doors clang closed behind him and they are suddenly on their way down.

_Shit!_

He knows there’s a good chance some enterprising paparazzo will have sneaked into the hotel and is, at this very moment, trying to loiter inconspicuously around the elevator entrance, hoping to get a shot of he or MacKenzie, preferably both.

Which means Will _cannot_ let the elevator stop at the ground floor.

_OK, we’ll just stop on another floor. Problem solved._

He goes to press the button for a random floor and is appalled to find that there are only three buttons on the panel: Stop, G, and P.

_Shit!_

Okay, we’ll go back to the penthouse.

He presses P but their descent continues.

“You do know we can’t go back up until we go down, don’t you?” MacKenzie says.

Why _yes_ , he did know that. He just forgot it momentarily. Somehow.

_Shit!_

On impulse, he presses the emergency stop button and the elevator stops abruptly.

He gives it a moment to reset, then presses P hopefully.

Nothing.

_Shit!_

“Will,” MacKenzie says. “I think only the fire department can save us now.”

A disembodied voice floats through the speakers.

“Mr. McAvoy? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says tiredly. “We were trying to go back to the penthouse but we kept going down. I thought we could reset the trip by pressing stop and then **P**.”

“Did you say something? I can’t hear you unless you press the Talk button next to the speaker.”

Will rolls his eyes, presses the Talk button and repeats what he said.

“The car has to complete the journey before you can tell it to go somewhere else,” the voice says accusingly.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the fire department,” the voice continues. “There’s a five-alarm fire in Evanston that’s keeping them busy, though, so they probably won’t be here for a while.”

“How long?” he asks wearily.

“30 minutes to an hour - maybe more.”

He hangs his head.

“OK, thanks.”

Silence.


	13. Chapter 13

MacKenzie slides down the wall to settle into a seated position. Across from her, Will grits his teeth, follows her down and winces as the grab bar digs into his shoulder.

“Shoulder still bothering you?” she asks.

“No,” he lies.

They sit quietly together, each lost in their own thoughts, oppressed by the events of the day.

MacKenzie is the first to break the silence. She’s got a captive audience and she knows it’s now or never.

“Will?” she says quietly. “Can we talk?“

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” he says casually. “You gonna tell me the real reason you came here today? Or why you had a full-blown panic attack in a situation you would have laughed at three years ago?”

“The second one’s easy,” she said simply. “I didn’t exactly come back from Afghanistan unscathed.”

She hopes he understands where she’s going with this because how to explain the PTSD, the fact that the slightest emotional upset can send her into a full-blown panic attack, complete with uncontrollable crying?

“I heard about—" the stabbing, he wants to say, but can’t.

“I have PTSD.”

His face registers shock, so she quickly tries to make light of it.

“It’s no big deal—it just means I don’t always know how I’m going to react in any given situation. It usually manifests in long crying jags but—I never really know how it’s going to go,” she says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It must have been horrendous for you—"

“I’m fine, Bil—Will. I’d rather not talk about that if you don’t mind.”

He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, but she doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

“OK,” he says. “And the answer to the first question?”

"Let's just lay it all on the line, shall we? I broke it off with George (with whom I've only ever had a strictly platonic relationship, by the way) because I am in love with somebody else. I came here to find out if that love is purely one-sided.”

He stops listening after the “platonic relationship” part. Does she _actually_ expect him to believe she had a platonic relationship with her boyfriend?

_Bullshit._

"Strictly platonic—right.”

He knows he is being completely and utterly irrational but he simply cannot abide the thought that she has been dating other men—in any capacity.

“Is that all you have to say?"

"Listen, Mac—if you expect me to believe that _you—_ _you_ " he chuckles mirthlessly—“had a platonic relationship with Mr. FaceTime—”

"Why? Because I’m a tramp?”

“What? No! Because—you—you—” 

 _Because_ _you're_ _the most sensuous woman I have ever known and there is just no fucking way..._

”Look, I’m just not buying it. Christ, do you think I'm an idiot?"

“Do you really want me to answer that question?"

Nothing.

"Will, did you hear the _other_ thing I said?"

"Yeah, you said you had a strictly platonic relationship with George. What I _don_ _’_ _t_ understand is why you think I give a shit.”

She sighs. "Can you please put the other Will on the line?" she says, suddenly exhausted.

"Which Will is that?” he says, with sudden venom. “The pussy? The one you cheated on?"

Ignoring him, she repeats, "Did you hear the other thing I said? The reason I broke up with George?"

"No. I wasn't listening. Sorry—I get a little crazy when I hear about—never mind. But anyway, why should I give two fucks why you broke up with George? It's nothing to me."

She tries again.

"Is the Will who rescued me from the reporters available?" 

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sweetheart, but there's only one Will—there may be a couple hangers-on, but I’m the one running the show."

"What about the one who held me in the car?"

 _Christ, she_ ' _s got a lot of nerve. She wants the one who can_ _’_ _t say no to her. The one who will take any amount of bullshit. The one who has no self-respect. Fuck that, Sweetheart. And fuck you._

He turns on her viciously.

"Oh, I get it. You want to speak to the pussy. The one you can manipulate. The one who will believe your lies."

_Jesus Christ, what has happened to you? WHERE is Will and what have you done with him?_

"Do you actually _believe_ any part of the bullshit that's coming out of your mouth right now?" she asks.

 _That's_ _rich. Coming from you._

"What do you want from me, MacKenzie? You waltzed out my life three years ago—"

" _You threw me out!_ " she retorts.

"Yeah—because you _cheated_ on me!" he roars. 

The sound is deafening. It explodes out of his throat and ricochets around the elevator. She nearly jumps out of her skin. 

All of a sudden it's three years ago and he's as raw and exposed as the night she told him. 

 _Don't_  pretend you don't know why I threw you out," he snarls.

He struggles to put a padlock on his feelings, to bury them beneath his customary veneer of contempt but the pain is too sharp and the cut too deep to allow for subterfuge. He ends up revealing far more than he intends. 

"Do you think I  _wanted_  to throw you out, MacKenzie?" he says angrily, his voice cracking. "Do you think it was  _easy_  for me to throw you out? To throw out the future I thought we had together?"

"Billy—"

" _Don't_ ," he says, putting his hand out in warning. "Just—don't." 

 _Why did you have to come here? To remind me of how much I lost? To rub my nose in it? And then you pretend I had a choice?_ _Don't you dare be glib about this, MacKenzie. Don't you fucking dare._

He's surprised to feel hot tears streaming down his face.

Which only makes him angrier. 

He detonates. 

 _"Do you have any idea how fucking happy I was when we were together?"_ he screams, his face purple with rage. _"Do you?_ I  _loved_  you, MacKenzie. I  _loved_  you. More than I've ever loved anyone in my life! But you didn't love me. You could never have done it if you did. You left me no choice but to throw you out. And I have regretted it every second of every day since you left. But I didn't have a choice. You threw it away and I have to live with it."

 _"_ Will," she cries. "I'm so sorry—"

She puts her hands on his back but he angrily shrugs her off.

"Save it."

The rage in his eyes is back and her own anger starts to build. 

_You love me. I love you. Why the fuck do you insist on wallowing in the past when we can fix this?_

"Will," she says firmly. "Look at me. Please—look at me." 

Reluctantly, he turns his head and she wipes the tears from his cheeks.

"We can fix this. You know we can." 

He shakes his head and looks down at the carpet.

"I can't. I can't trust you." 

He's closed himself off again. When she looks into his eyes, they're cold, dark and contemptuous.

_It's hopeless. We are not coming back from this. Ever._

And then she's crying and _Jesus Christ, here comes another panic attack. Isn't one per day enough?_

She can't breathe.

"I need to get out of here,“ she says and struggles to her feet. 

"Just settle down—it won't be long now. They're working on it."

"I can't, I can't, I can't,” she says. “I have to—get—out—of—here," she gasps.

The fog of his rage clears the instant he sees the panic in her eyes.

She's wildly pressing the Talk button but it’s hard and flat instead of raised.

_Why isn't it working??_

She feels him come up behind her, put his hand gently over hers and guide her index finger to the actual Talk button.

“It’s this one, Kenz. Focus on your breathing,” he says as calmly as he can, though he’s close to hysteria himself. “I’ll call down.”

 _What the fuck has happened to us?_ he thinks.

She shoves him away from her as hard as she can, sending him sprawling.

She presses the button once, twice, three times.

No response.

She tries again.

Nothing.

"Please—I need—to—get out of here,” she says into the speaker anyway. “Help—me. I can't—breathe."

This has spiraled completely out of control and he has to fix it. Fast.

He gets to his feet, approaches her warily and says as calmly as he can, "They must be on a break, Mac. I'm here, I'll help you. Let me help you."

He reaches for her, tries to draw her against his chest. It had calmed her earlier in the day, right?

"Get away from me, Will—" she chokes out, hitting his chest.

"I **_hate—_** you—you—say—you—love—me—but—you—won't—let—me—fix—it—" she says, with all the venom she can muster given her sputtering voice.

“You're a—smug—cruel— _bas—_ tard and _I hate you!_ _I hate you!_ _”_ she shrieks and then she’s sobbing uncontrollably.

He recoils, horrified, then takes a step toward her. 

"Let me help you, Mac. Shhh, shhhh, you're okay, you're okay. I've got you."

He tries to draw her to him again.

“This helped earlier, right?" he repeats. "Let me help you, Mac. Please let me help you.”

“No...no…no…” she sobs.

She’s hyperventilating now.

She can’t breathe.

She hates him.

He hates her.

She can’t breathe.

She can’t breathe.

She can’t breathe.

She doesn’t have a choice.

She lets him.

\--

He draws her down into his lap and starts stroking and kissing her hair, trying every calming trick in the book he remembers from their life together.

"Follow me, sweetheart," he says, the endearment falling from his lips before he can stop himself. "...in...out....in....out....breathe...that's it. You've got this."

"I—want— _this—_ Will,” she sobs.

Tears spring to his eyes but he keeps going, trying to help her focus, trying keep her calm.

Still sobbing, she does her best to mirror his breathing.

Gradually, slowly, she gets her breath back and then she’s crying again.

"I—want— _this—_ Will," she sobs again.

“I—want— _this—_ Will.”

He has no idea what the fuck has happened to them—or to him—but he knows he's the only one who can fix this.

“I’m here," he says as he strokes her hair. "I'm here."

 


	14. Chapter 14

They focus on their breathing.

His is steady and deliberate, trying to light the way. Hers is shallow and desperate for the first five minutes but as she forces herself to think of nothing—emulate nothing—but his steady intake and outtake of breath, it begins to even out. When it does, she falls back against his chest, shaken and exhausted.

He doesn't alter his routine, keeping his breath slow and steady, constant and reliable—much like the man himself. It's that thought that gives her pause and once again she feels hot tears stinging her eyes. Steadfast, loving, constant, reliable Will. Unchanging, fixed, rigid Will. The aspects of his personality that have been her source of strength are the same characteristics that have torn them apart. 

Her thoughts turn to her own part in this debacle; the aspects of her _own_ personality that have led them to this day. Self-absorption and emotional dishonesty, a proclivity for deflection instead of admitting blame, trivializing his pain to avoid admitting her own culpability.

How could she have been so careless with the feelings of a man who feels so deeply? Who loved her with everything he had?

She looks at his face in the mirror facing them. So many more lines than she remembers. How had she not noticed them before? Dozens of new ones, each representing a new hurt. Grief and loss are reflected in the ones under his eyes. Prolonged suffering in the lines in between. 

_I put them there. And I have to make things right._

“Will?”

“Yeah?” he says, looking up at her, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“I’m sorry I said—” she starts, then stops “—what I said. I don't—hate you. I just—I just want to fix this,” she says, looking at him pleadingly. “So badly.”

He’s silent for long moments, considering his response.

“MacKenzie,” he says clearly, wanting to make sure she hears him, wanting to make sure she understands. “It can’t be fixed, okay? It just can’t. Please—just let it be.”

She wrenches her neck around to look at him, disbelieving. 

 _He can_ _'t_ _mean that, can he? Can he possibly mean that? When there's_ _clearly so much between us, even now?_

He forces himself to look at her, steels himself against the pain in her eyes. “I wish you nothing but the very best,” he says, his voice cracking. “I mean that sincerely. I know you’ll do great things for the BBC and you’re going to have a great life.”

Her face crumples. “So this is it, then?” she says, her voice quavering. “We just go our separate ways when they spring us?”

“Yeah...” he says, looking down at the floor. “I think so.”

_To have no hope for reconciliation? To have this be the end? To never see you again?_

“Not even friends?” she whispers.

He raises his eyes to hers again and she sees they’re moist with tears. “I can’t, Mac,” he says, looking down again. “It just—it hurts too much.”

She shakes her head, disbelieving and suddenly furious. “I am _not_ going to let you give up on us again, Will! I’m _not_ _._ There is too much between us to throw it all away. I _know_ you love me,” she says between clenched teeth. “What you just said is tantamount to admitting it.”

“I love the woman I thought you were,” he says slowly.

He has to make her understand that even if he’s not foaming-at-the-mouth angry anymore, he does _not_ believe her bullshit.

 _Fuck her if what I_ _’_ _m about to say hurts. The truth hurts._  

“I don’t love _you_ , Mac…’ he says, and sees her eyes fill with tears. “…the person who lied to me for four months, who laughed at me behind my back. The woman I loved doesn’t exist; forgive me if it’s too fucking painful to be around someone who looks exactly like her.”

“You’re _wrong_ , you cruel bastard,” she says angrily, wiping her eyes. “The woman you loved is right here. Sitting in your lap. _Waiting_ for you to pull your head out of your ass.”

She scoots off his legs, sits cross-legged in front of him and grabs his hand, staring him square in the eye. “And I can prove it to you."

He scoffs.

“You had a ninety-four percent conviction rate as a prosecutor, which is entirely respectable—but it still means you got six percent of the cases _wrong_.” 

“Not me,” he counters. “The jurors.”

She leans back a bit, looks at him appraisingly.

“Are you telling me you’ve never made a mistake? That you’ve never misinterpreted anything?”

“Are you insinuating that fucking someone on the side leaves any _room_ for misinterpretation?”

“I’m not disputing the sequence of events. I’m disputing the meaning you’ve attached to them. You insist I did it _because_ I never loved you, and that is factually incorrect. I did it _when_ I didn’t love you.”

“I don’t get your logic. How does that prove the woman I loved is right here?”

“Listen to me, Will,” she says, cupping his face in her hands, willing him to listen. “If you ever loved me at all, you will listen to me and you will _hear_ what I’m about to say to you. Do you believe that in every situation there’s only one truth? If so, who gets to decide? What if they decide wrong?”

“Still not getting it.”

“We were two people in the same situation but we each picked a different interpretation.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t pick a self-serving one.”

“Didn’t you?” she says carefully. “You chose one that confirmed your most deeply-held, subconscious beliefs. You decided I never loved you because it confirmed the fear you've had since childhood that no one has _ever_ loved you. And even though there was absolutely no evidence to support it, you went full bore with that interpretation because it felt right. And the reason it felt right is not because it was true but because it was familiar, a story you've been torturing yourself with since you were a child."

She's captured his interest. She can see it. He's looking at her intently, trying to work it out, trying to see if there is _any_ _fucking_  way he can believe her.  

_Don't be so gullible, Will. She's just trying to manipulate you._

Silently telling the other Will to fuck off, he closes his eyes and tries to make room for the other voices in his head. 

_Could what she's saying be true?_

Sensing she _might_ actually be getting through to him, she takes a deep breath and continues. 

"Then you extrapolated from what happened with Brian that I can’t be trusted, _period_. You made that leap because it's black and white and confirms what you’ve always felt, deep down inside, which is that you’re on your own and you can’t trust _anybody_. But what if you were _wrong,_ Will? What if what happened with Brian was an aberration and _not_ the norm?

He blinks, trying to process what she just said. He can feel it, that flicker of hope he had when he saw her in the audience this morning. It's burning brighter and brighter, even if the other Will is trying to trample on it. 

She takes his other hand and draws circles in his palm, trying to soothe him, trying to make him understand that he can trust her, that she will not let him down again.

"And then you picked an interpretation that confirmed the _other_ fear you've had since childhood, which is that people hurt you because you deserve it. But what if I hurt you _not_ because you're unworthy of protection but because I was a self-absorbed idiot, incapable of seeing beyond my own insecurities?"

"Billy, listen to me," she says softly, reaching out to stroke his hair. "What if there really _is_  more than one way to interpret a situation? What if our conditioning and insecurities make us pick the interpretation we're the most comfortable with instead of the one that is empirically true? I am asking you to seriously consider the possibility that there is another way to look at what happened. One that will serve you better. One that will let you have the life and the love that we _both_ want.”

_You're asking me to choose an interpretation that lets you off the hook. That invalidates every bit of suffering I've gone through the last three years. You think I had a choice, Mac? You think I wanted to suffer? You think I could just pull any interpretation off the shelf and have it resonate as the truth?_

__Fuck that._ _

_You almost had me, though._

He grabs her hand and moves it away from him.

“Are you seriously trying to make me believe that you can be trusted? That you _love_ me?”

“God, Will, that is _exactly_ what I’m saying! Aside from being incredibly stupid with Brian, what did I _ever_ do that wasn’t trustworthy? Did you trust me professionally? Did you trust me with _every other aspect_ of your life? _Yes, you did_! And I did _not_ let you down.

She shakes her head, exasperated. "As for love, you act like you were the only one who loved. And you are _dead wrong_! From the moment I fell in love with you, I loved you every bit as much as you say you loved me. I was as devoted to you as you were to me. I wanted our life together as much as you did. I wanted to marry you, have a family with you, and grow old with you. I did _three_  things wrong, Will. Why are you letting them outweigh the hundreds of other things I did right?”

“ _Three_  things? _Three_? Try _seventeen_!” he explodes.

“Seventeen? Where are you getting that number?”

“I counted! It was in the calendar! _Jesus Christ_ _,_ MacKenzie! You fucked him seventeen times while we were together. _Seventeen_ times. That’s not a drunken lapse. That’s not a mistake. That requires _planning_. That’s cold, calculated and fucking heartless! You _knew_ I was in love with you! You _knew_ I thought we were monogamous. You _knew_ I thought we were happy! Yet you did it anyway! Seventeen times!”

“I don’t know where the fuck you’re getting your numbers, Will, but it was _three_ times. _Three_. Twice in the first month and once in the second, the last of which was under duress, by the way. Where the fuck did you get “seventeen”?”

“Are you _sure_ you want to have this conversation, Sweetheart? ‘Cause it’s not going to go your way.” 

_“Bring it.”_


	15. Chapter 15

He’s been clinging to his version of the truth like a drowning man but her staunch denial gives him pause. He sees no doubt in her eyes, no apprehension. In fact, she’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind. 

 _Could she be telling the truth? And if she is, what then? Does it matter if it was three times or seventeen?_  

He doesn’t have time to decide because they’re engaged in a game of brinkmanship that can only end with surrender or destruction. He’ll be damned if _he’s_ the one who capitulates.

“Save yourself the embarrassment and just admit it, MacKenzie.”

“ _I_ _’_ _m_ not the one who’s going to be embarrassed, Will.”

It’s not quite sarcastic and not quite sportsmanlike either but he’ll take it because the malice is starting to get to him. They used to bicker from morning ‘til night but it was foreplay then—never meant to damage.

No matter. The domineering voice in his head compels him to keep going. It’s not in his nature to admit defeat.

“The _calendar_ , Mac. The _cal.en.dar_. I know every night you spent with that asshole.”

“You don’t know fuck all, Will. You think I put my dates with Brian in our shared calendar?” 

“Not _ours. Mine._ Look…” 

He stops, embarrassed, trying to figure out a way to say this without looking like a total idiot.

He shoves the embarrassment to the back of his mind and forces himself to concentrate on the task at hand: _winning_.

Besides, what he's about to say doesn’t matter anyway—not now, not when everything about them is past-tense.

He rushes through it, though, half-hoping she can’t make out the words.

“The-first-six-months-we-were-together-I-recorded-every-reason-you-ever-gave-me-for-not-wanting-to-spend-the-night-with-me.” 

“I don’t understand."

He can’t look at her but somehow, somehow, he feels compelled to explain.

“I—I wanted to make sure I wasn't pushing you too fast. If I got the feeling one week that four nights together was too much, I dialed it back to two the next.” 

“Oh, _Will_.” 

Two things occur to her: he’d wanted her, so badly. And at his core, he was— _is—_ so deeply insecure. As annoyed as she is at his accusation, her heart aches for him: he’s clubbed himself over the head with that number for three years. He’s worn it like a hair shirt, used it to paper the walls of his echo chamber, all because it plays into the belief he’s carried since childhood, that he has never been good enough. 

He sees the emotions play over her face and forces himself to remember the _point_ of this story. He doesn’t need her pity. 

“Look, it doesn’t matter. _Seventeen_ times, MacKenzie. _Seventeen_ times. _Bowling_ , my ass,” he says with derision.

That snaps her out of it. _Why does he have to be so goddamned caustic?_

She sighs, tries to keep her temper. “Bowling? What are you _talking_ about?”

 _“_ _Bowling_. You gave me that excuse seventeen times in the first four months we were together. And you _stopped_ making that excuse at the _beginning of the fourth month_. Coincidence? I think not,” he says triumphantly. 

She’s momentarily stunned into silence. 

 _This_ _is the evidence you used to convict me? Jesus Christ._

When she responds, it's with cold, clipped fury.

“Is it difficult riding your high horse with your head so far up your ass?” 

“Me? Who the fuck goes bowling seventeen times in three months?”

“ _I_ did, Will. _I_ did!” she shrieks. “And I’ve got the receipts and the ugly bowling shoes to prove it. You _thought—_ you went through your fucking calendar and decided all the nights I said I was going bowling were really nights I spent with _Brian_?”

Contrary to what Will believes, her idiotic liaisons with Brian had _not_ been planned. They’d been spur-of-the-moment—the result of a couple of mewling phone calls in the beginning and a threatening one at the end.

She’s so angry she’s shaking. 

“Listen, Perry Mason. It wasn’t Brian, it was _Marian—_ _Marian_. From the 23 rd floor—remember? She wanted to pick up guys and thought that new bowling alley on West 42nd would be a great place to do it but she didn’t want to go alone. It took her two months to get up the courage to even speak to a man but once she did there was no stopping her. I quit going the third time she abandoned me for some low-life. Which _happened. to. be. at. the. end. of. the. third. month_.”

 _Shit._  

“How could you convict me on such flimsy evidence, Will? You’re a _prosecutor—_ and a _journalist_! Did it ever occur to you to get a second source?”

 _Where do you get off, being self-righteous? Three times or 300—_ _it doesn't matter. You betrayed me._  

“I didn’t need one. It was obvious.”

She wills herself to speak calmly. “And now that you know you were wrong…?” she says, trying to tread carefully, trying to lead him into a mental space where he can at least entertain the idea that there might be another way to look at what happened.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What are you _talking_ about!?" she explodes. " _Of course_ it matters! You made up a story in your head based on something that was factually incorrect and yet you’re _still_ clinging to it. Why, Will? _Why?”_

Her voice breaks and she’s perilously close to tears. 

_Because I can't let myself believe you._

“Because I don’t believe you.”

“What? What don’t you believe?”

He tries to dial it back a bit, to get a grip on the compulsion that makes him want to hurt her as badly as she hurt him, but it’s all too raw, too close to the surface.

“Anything that comes out of your mouth.” 

She recoils as if he’s just slapped her.

 _Why do I have to keep hurting her? Why can_ ' _t I just feign indifference?_

“Look,” he says, almost apologetically— _almost_. “This day has gotten way out of hand and we’ve both said some things…”

She shakes her head, unwilling to hear him.

_I_ _'m just banging my head against the wall here. How much more of his shit am I willing to take?_

She’s suddenly keenly aware of how little power she wields to influence him. 

 _What was I thinking? It was arrogance and conceit to assume I could knit us back together. I can_ ' _t do it alone and I can_ 't _browbeat him into it. It has to come from him._

She makes a decision then.

She can either fight or float.


	16. Chapter 16

He’s more than a little ashamed to see that his barb has found its mark. Still, she rallies long enough to make her point.

“No, Will. You’re not going to weasel out of this one. You’re going to explain to me why you’re still hanging on to an interpretation of our breakup that is not supported by the facts.” 

Exhausted, he says, “Why are you doing this, MacKenzie? Why can’t you let it go?”

She rubs her hands tiredly over her eyes. 

“Because despite this—this _bullshit_ , we belong together, Will. Because there’s something rare and beautiful between us and I want it back.”

“You call what happened today ‘rare and beautiful’? I think every member of the American Psychological Association would disagree with you.”

“This isn’t us, Billy,” she says. “All the bullshit we've put each other through today and on that day three years ago is not _us_ _._ It’s not the connection we share and it’s not who we _are_ to each other.” 

He knows exactly what she’s talking about. And for the first time in three years, he allows—no, is _powerless against—_ letting his conscious mind go there. He tries to reel himself back in but it’s right there in front of him, shimmering and pulsing at the surface. It’s so strong it makes his eyes water and his throat close.

No matter. He will not be taken in.

“That’s something a stalker says.”

Tears well in her eyes.

Deflated, exhausted and overwhelmed by his capacity for cruelty, she nods.

She’s running out of ammunition. She needs to find a way to shut the defensive part of his brain down long enough for him to hear—no, to _feel—_ the truth of what she’s saying. 

“OK, Will,” she says quietly. “I’ll make a deal with you. Let me say what I have to say and if it means nothing to you, we’ll go our separate ways and I’ll never contact you again.” 

His eyes swing up to hers.

_Is that what I want? To never see her again?_

But he’s not there yet. He can only nod. 

“Do you remember your birthday three years ago?”

Of course, he remembers. But somehow, in spite of himself, he wants to hear it from her.

“I took two days off work so I could make you the perfect birthday dinner, Nebraska-style, remember?” 

She knows he remembers but they both pretend he doesn’t, him serving his alter ego, the one telling him to pretend he remembers nothing positive about their relationship and she serving the voice that hopes to get through to him. 

“I spent the entire day in the kitchen and every single thing that could go wrong did. The steak was burnt, the vegetables were undercooked, half the baked potatoes exploded in the oven and the fondant on the cake was in tatters.”

“By the time you came home the whole evening was shaping up to be a disaster. There was flour all over the floor, the kitchen was a mess, dinner was ruined and I had fondant stuck in my hair. But you know what you did? You sat down at the table, put your napkin in your lap and proceeded to eat each and every inedible thing I had prepared. Then you plucked a piece of the fondant out of my hair, tasted it, pronounced it delicious and said, with a straight face, that it was the best birthday dinner _you_ _’_ _d. ever. had_.”

Will startles at his own laugh, at the memory of MacKenzie, covered in flour, her face red and her hair streaked with blue fondant.

It feels like this is the first time he’s laughed in years.

“And then you started laughing. And then I did. And then we were both laughing so hard we were crying.” 

She stops, remembering. 

“Then you put your arm around me and led me to the balcony. We uncorked a fabulous bottle of wine—the only part of the meal I hadn’t ruined—and watched the fireworks. And then—even though I was still covered in flour and fondant, you gave me that look—you know the one…” 

He finds himself nodding, quickly looking down.

“And you scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom and we had the most amazing, beautiful—well…you know,” she says, a lump in her throat. “It was electric. And when it was all over, you pulled me into your arms and whispered, “I love you, Kenz,” she gulps, her voice cracking, tears stinging her eyes. “Always and forever.”

As she speaks, his own memories of that night are coalescing and swirling inside him: their ecstatic lovemaking, the utter contentment he felt when she lay in his arms. She'd be gratified to know that at this moment he's definitely feeling it but he doesn't want to. Not when it makes him feel so vulnerable. Not when it makes him fear that at any moment he'll abandon his principles and take her back. 

“You fell asleep and I lay there watching you and listening to you breathe. And this wave of—I don't know how to explain it—this wave of pure love and absolute joy just surged through me. I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest. I remember thinking, _This_ _is the man I get to spend the rest of my life with. This brilliant, extraordinary, beautiful man. How did I get so lucky?_ _”_

She forces herself to look at him, willing him to see, willing him to believe how much she loved him then, how much she _still_ loves him.

“I was so in love with you, Will. The day had started out terribly but it ended up being one of the happiest days of my life.”

She takes a deep breath, wills herself to continue. She has no idea what he's thinking.

“I’m telling you this story because I believe _that_ _’_ _s_ who we are to each other. We’re the people laughing in that kitchen. Fighting over a story. Doing our show. Making love over and over and over again. _That_ _’_ _s_ what’s real— _not_ _this_.”

The domineering voice in his head is telling him not to listen but another voice is getting louder and more insistent.

_What are you so afraid of? That you were wrong? That you made a mistake? Who the fuck cares? Let it go. Let her in. Live the life you both want._

And then he can't hear either one because he's overwhelmed by memories.

Days spent bickering over the rundown. Her voice in his ear. Nights spent working out their frustrations. The sense of utter joy and peace he felt afterward. Watching her across the newsroom. Fighting the urge to close the distance between them and bury his face in her hair. The sweet scent of her shampoo. Sitting on the couch, reading to her out loud, her head resting in his lap. The way she stood up to him, completely impervious to the grumpy persona that would send everyone else scurrying. How she gave as good as she got. How her eyes would light up when she saw him. _Did I imagine that?_ Laughter, so much laughter, even when they fought. The lightness in his chest, the way the world seemed so much brighter and the colors more vivid when he had his arm around her.

_Can he believe her? Should he believe her?_


	17. Chapter 17

The weight of Will’s decision lies between them but he’s sure as fuck not talking, so MacKenzie has no choice but to carry on with her soliloquy.

“ _This_ ** _—_** today—is what happens when we report a story with only half the facts. Garbage in, garbage _out_ , Will.”

Her voice is a little less authoritative than she’d like—in fact, it’s just this side of imploring—and when she tries to gauge his reaction she’s disappointed to discover that although his eyes are on hers (well, not _on_ hers exactly but he _is_ looking in her general direction), his expression suggests nothing like newfound—or rediscovered—devotion.

_Christ. I’m pouring my heart out here. Why the hell aren’t you saying anything?_

He’s obviously deep in thought but she’s not taking that as a good sign because no good has ever come from letting Will McAvoy think. Making him feel has always paid much bigger dividends, which is why she wants to grab his collar, twist it into two hard knots and kiss the uncertainty right off his face. She’d do it, too, if she thought she could get away with it … or if she had the slightest inkling he’d be receptive.

But she can’t get a read on him at all. And it’s driving her mad.

What she doesn’t know is that he's been hanging on every word. Asshole Will has even been weighing them: he’s taken out his scale, measured the emotional heft of her memories against the ones in his own storehouse, poked them, prodded them, turned them this way and that, all to see if what she’s been saying adds up. In the end, her entire monologue gets a resounding, “ _Maybe._ ”

 _Her_ Will, though, the one that she wants, is completely sold: _God, Mac. I remember. I remember it all_. He remembers it so well he’s still reeling. Every memory that just washed over him is as vivid as the day it was encoded in his brain. What kind of brute force did his frontal cortex have to exert to shove them all so far down into his subconscious that he could forget—for even a second—how good it was between them? He wants her. Past, present and future tense. But he can’t say it. That would require some fancy footwork on the other Will’s part, a way to square the both of them with yet another cycle of humiliation ( _Will McAvoy Reunites with Cheating Producer)._  

 _What_ _’_ _s it going to take, Will?_ asks some annoying little fucker in his head. _The elevator starting to move? Then you_ _’_ _ve got 20 seconds—tops—to say what you’re going to say to her._

The problem is that he doesn’t know what he’s going say to her. He has no problem formulating what he _wants_ to say to her ( _Don_ _’_ _t go, stay with me tonight, marry me_ , in that order) but that’s his hormones talking. He needs to make a rational decision.

He’d been unmoored by her betrayal. And now she’s asking him to let her back in, to open himself up to the possibility of another one.

He knows he has to make a choice. And he has to make it before the elevator starts to move. Otherwise, she’s heading to London and parts unknown. 

Is he in or is he out?

_Fuck._

As the silence fills the space between them, she tries to guess at what he’s thinking. In the end, she actually comes pretty close:

_I don’t know. I don’t know. I want this. No, you don’t. Stop being such a pussy._

As her confidence wanes, she feels the weight of the afternoon—hell, the last three years—settle like a block of cement on her chest. It’s been _such_ a long, hard slog. She feels like she’s been treading this particular stretch of muddy road for miles—decades even. One foot up, then down, then stuck fast in the mire, other leg up, then down, then stuck in the mire, then it’s two fucking hands to lift a leg up and set it down in the mire. Repeat ad nauseam as the losses mount, as they continue to lose ground and precious time. She just wants to grab the nearest branch with both hands, pull herself out of the swamp and vault herself over to Will so she can liberate him from the calcified shell she put him in.

Slowly, gradually, as the seconds tick by, it dawns on her that this can only mean he’s about to tell her to fuck off. And since she’d promised to let him go if that was his decision, it means she’s actually saying goodbye to him right now. Right this _second_. He doesn’t want her and she’s never going to be able to fix this and she’s never going to see him again except in the tabloids when he finds someone else to love and to marry. She’ll be condemned to a life of misery, bursting into tears and railing against the shortness of everything whenever she hears a song he’d played for her when their life together was about to begin. 

 _Think, MacKenzie, think._  

Wait. 

She’d read somewhere once that in order for someone to forgive, the evildoer has to redirect the shame of the offense at himself. It requires admitting that although you diminished the other person, you yourself are actually the one who’s diminished. It requires showing the other person that you understand the nature of your wrongdoing and the impact it had on them. It requires you to be genuinely sorry. 

She’s done all that. She _is_ all that.

The one thing she hasn’t done is acknowledge that he probably _didn’t_ have much of a choice when he’d kicked her out—not given his background—not given the fact that Godzilla Will has always been guarding the door. 

It’s not that she’s trying to manipulate him … exactly. It’s just that if the Will who loves her is ever going to get his chance to speak, she has to persuade the other Will to lay down his guns—or raise them long enough for her to sneak under an armpit.

And so, despite knowing full well it’s idiotic and more than a little desperate, she decides it’s time to address the _other_ Will.


	18. Chapter 18

She takes a deep breath, leans forward and takes his hand in hers. He looks at her, eyebrows raised and she can see that he’s irritated as hell.

She doesn’t know why (it’s not like she’s been pestering him all day, for Christ’s sake) so she tries to brush it off.

She’d have felt a little better if she actually did know why: it’s because he needs to think, dammit, and he can’t think when she’s touching him because it makes him forget everything she’s done.

“Humor me, Billy. Which Will am I talking to now? The one who hates me or—?”

He wants to laugh at her attempt to address his inner child but they’ve been playing this game for hours so he guesses he’ll humor her.

“Neither one of ‘us’ hates you, MacKenzie. But yeah—he’s right here.”

“Oh. Has he been here the whole time?”

“Off and on.”

_Shit._

The next thing he says is out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“It’s been the other one, mostly.”

“Really?” she says, not daring to hope what that might mean. “Oh, that’s good … to know. Well, I just wanted to say to the … other Will ... Christ—you know what I mean … that I don’t blame you for kicking me out. Your job is to protect … however the fuck many Wills there are … and you made the best decision you could, given … your background and … the information you thought you had at the time.”

While her acknowledgment of his predicament is strangely soothing, he can’t respond because he still doesn’t know how.

“I am so sorry for what happened between us. I was stupid and self-absorbed and it was all my fault.”

_You got that right, Sweetheart._

_Why the fuck isn’t he saying anything?? Is it because I haven’t spelled it out for him? Made a clear proposition? Outlined a way forward?_

_Deep breaths, MacKenzie. Deep breaths._

“Will, I’m telling you all this because I want you back. And I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that you can trust me: couples counseling, individual counseling, group counseling, a public flogging, whatever you need. _Anything_.”

She waffles, then stops altogether because despite the fact that she just laid every single one of her crumpled, torn, battered cards on the table, just opened her heart so goddamned wide he could drive a semi through it, he’s got nothing to say.

Nothing. Not a nod, not a word, not an acknowledgment of any kind. Nothing.

And that, more than anything else, makes her want to weep.

This is the end. It’s all too real now, all too clear.

She gathers her courage, swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to continue because no matter how badly she wants this, how badly she wants _him_ , it’s his choice.

It has to be his choice. And she has to be willing to let him go.

“But … if that’s not what you want… I am hereby letting you go. You don’t have to worry about me contacting you again,” she says quickly. “Or … as you so elegantly put it, ‘acting like a stalker.’ I won’t.”

Then the dam breaks and she’s unable to stop the tears.

“If this is the end for us, Will, I want you to know that I will never regret the time we spent together. It was the happiest time in my life. I will always love you and I will always carry you with me. I wish you nothing but the best and … I hope—you—find—someone—who will—love you—as fiercely—as you deserve—to be loved.”

“MacKenzie – “

He has no idea what to say after that. He wants to tell her it will never be the end for them and if she seriously thinks he could ever find anyone to replace her she’s out of her fucking mind. He’s learned that much over the last three years.

What’s standing between his mouth and his brain that’s keeping him from making that statement?

_Everything._

At that moment, the disembodied voice asks if they’re okay and the elevator starts to carry them down.

Stricken, MacKenzie looks at Will and at the clock over his head. She has two hours to make it back to her hotel and to the airport.

_Is this the end?_

Then the voice starts asking Will other questions that he’s obliged to answer which is seriously cutting into his response time and he’s looking at MacKenzie and she’s still got tears streaming down her face and then the doors are opening and the fire brigade is saying something to Will and he still hasn’t had a chance to respond and out of the corner of her eye MacKenzie notices a tall blonde woman in a red coat heading straight for Will, and then she's leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hi Sweetheart, I thought you could use my help.”

_Sweetheart?_

“Nina—what are you—“

Then the fire marshal is interrupting him, asking another inane question he’s obliged to answer.

While Will is otherwise engaged, the woman extends a hand to MacKenzie, who shakes it reflexively.

“You must be MacKenzie,” she says quietly. “I’m Nina, Will’s girlfriend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”


	19. Chapter 19

MacKenzie, struck dumb, looks from Will, who’s still talking to the fire marshal, to Nina, who’s a study in cool self-possession. A tsunami of grief washes over her and she’s marooned on an island in waters made entirely of her own despair. She wishes the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

 _Why didn’t he tell me? Was he just trying to see how low I would go? How far I’d prostrate myself?_  

Finished with his questioning, Will looks from Nina to MacKenzie.

“You two have met? Listen, Nina, thanks for coming but I think we’re okay—Charlie wants us to lay low—“ 

He stops when he glances at MacKenzie, who’s got an expression on her face he doesn’t recognize. It’s only when her eyes swing up and fully lock on to his that he sees that it’s outrage. 

“You let me go on—you let me—how could you, Will? How _could_ you?” she chokes out.

“Mac, what are you talking about?” 

She shakes her head, unwilling to bare her soul further. Not in front of him, not in front of his girlfriend. 

She’s trying to stop the tears but it hurts so badly—the entire day—his seemingly endless appetite for cruelty.

And now this.

A girlfriend.

She wishes she’d never come.

She wishes she’d never been born. 

She has to get the fuck out of here with whatever scrap of pride he’s left her with. 

_She has to. She has to. She has to._

She turns on her heel, ready to bolt but Will grabs her hand. 

“Mac, where are you going? Come back upstairs. Nina—I’ll call you if we need you. Come on, Mac,” he says, trying to tug her towards the elevator. 

MacKenzie keeps trying to wrench her hand out of his, keeps trying to pull herself back from the brink but it’s no use. She’s so tired. She hasn’t eaten since yesterday. She missed two doses of her medication and she feels utterly helpless, utterly alone. So stupid. She’s been so stupid, thinking he would want her back, thinking she could fix this.

Heedless of the 15 or so people in the lobby watching them (at least the paparazzi are still well out of earshot), of his fucking girlfriend watching them, she tries once again to wrench her hand free.

“Let me _go_ , Will. Let me _go_!”

Her mind is a whirl of incantations:

 _Fuck him_ and _Fuck her_ and _Fuck this whole sordid mess_ and _I need to get out of here_ and _If I don’t make my flight I’m going to be stuck in this godforsaken city with Will and his fucking girlfriend, all of us sitting under the same stars. No way. No fucking way._

“MacKenzie. Settle down. What’s going on?” 

 _No, no, no._

_I have to get out of here._

_I have to get out of here._

_I have to get out of here._  

She’s sobbing now, completely undone, trying desperately to pull her hand away and it’s at that moment that Will realizes something truly awful is happening. MacKenzie is actually losing it. Right here in front of him. Christ, what has happened to her? She used to be invincible and now she’s a shell—a frightened rabbit.

She’s sinking. She’s sinking and he has no fucking idea why. 

“MacKenzie—“ he says, trying to get her attention, trying to lift her chin up so she’ll look him in the eye.

“MacKenzie—look at me. Look at me, Sweetheart. What’s going on?” 

_As if he doesn’t know. Fuck him. Now he wants to pretend he cares?_

“Let go of me, Will. Let _go_!”

He glances at Nina, who's apparently unfazed by MacKenzie’s breakdown. Then it dawns on him. 

“Did you tell her we’re together?”

Nina doesn’t say anything because she’s a terrible person. And also because she’s dazzled by the spectacle in front of her, by watching this multiple Peabody-award winning producer, this hard-nosed news reporter, this woman who’s been able to lead Will McAvoy around by the nose for _years_ \- cave in on herself.

“Nina! Goddammit, did you tell her we’re together!?”

Nina looks at him, shrugs. Cool as a cucumber.

“What do you call it, Will? We’re dating.”

“Jesus Christ, Nina. Three dates arranged by my publicist does not a relationship make. Mac, listen to me—Nina and I are **_not_** together. Let’s go back upstairs.”

The “not together” part is an emergency broadcast that cuts right through her own regularly scheduled programming and she stops struggling.

_Not together? Who the fuck **is** she then? _

“I don’t understand,” MacKenzie says.

Nina shrugs but doesn’t budge.

“We’re not together,” Will says again and tries to lead MacKenzie to the elevator but she presses a hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Why would she say she’s your girlfriend, Will?”

“Fuck if I know. Don’t worry about it.”

 _Well, that was all for nothing,_ she thinks. Christ, she’s spinning out of control. She has to get a grip on herself—somehow.

But not here.

Not with him standing there _still not saying anything._  

“I need to go, Will—my flight.” 

Christ. He forgot about that. She can’t leave. Not after what she told him in the elevator, not after the psychotic break he just witnessed. She needs help and they need to talk.

“Don’t go tonight, Mac. We need to talk.”

She shakes her head. She’s too exhausted to keep fighting. It’s up to him now. 

“I’m done talking, Will. You’re the one who needs to talk. If you have anything to say to me, you need to say it right now. Otherwise, I’m leaving.” 

He looks at her, then at the doors out into the street, where the paparazzi are still mingling.

There are 20 feet between where they stand and the exit.

20 feet between the two trajectories of his life. 

He knows what this one looks like—cold, and grey and miserable. He knows what the other one looks like, too—the polar opposite of the first. 

He can have the one he wants.

All he has to do is believe her version of what transpired between them. The fact that she’s about to walk out of his life again makes his decision for him. 

“Okay, Mac,” he says, somewhat deflated. “I love you and I want what you want. But I don’t have a roadmap for getting there.” 

It’s not the passionate, unwavering declaration she’d hoped for but she’ll take it. 

“Do you mean it? You want what I want?” 

“I do. How do we do it?”

“We just decide to. We need to talk but I need to go. My flight—“ 

“Don't go. You’re one panic attack away from jumping out the window and that will _not_ look good in an interview. Reschedule it—or cancel it.” 

She knows he’s right, that there’s little chance she’ll do well tomorrow but she has to take that chance.

“I need a job, Will. My health insurance runs out in three months. And, as you can see, I am in desperate need of the mental health benefits.”

“I’ll put you on my plan.” 

“Yes, well, I’ll definitely need a job to pay those gold-plated premiums.”

“No you won’t, Mac, I’ll take care of it.” 

“Will, I can’t ask you—“

“It’s just temporary, Mac. You’d do the same for me, right?

“Well, yes—but—” 

“No ‘buts.’ I meant what I said, MacKenzie. I love you.” 

That turns out to be much easier to say that than he ever would have predicted, so he says it again. 

“I love you.” 

All of a sudden he feels a thousand times lighter. Despite the humiliation he’s bound to face tomorrow and over the next few weeks until something else captures the attention of the tabloid media, he feels alight with hope and happiness. They’re going to fix it and he’s going to help her recover and they’re going to take care of each other and suddenly he feels like he’s got his whole life ahead of him. 

_And all he had to do was decide. How did he not know that?_

“I don’t want your pity, Will.” 

“That’s not pity, Mac. That’s love.” 

“Okay.”

It's settled. He bends down and kisses her on the forehead. And then he’s looping his arm over her shoulder, giving Nina a dirty look and leading MacKenzie to the elevator.

The doors close behind them and once again they’re alone.


	20. Chapter 20

He's still got his arm around her, still marveling at the day's events, when he glances down and notices just how angular her jaw is. It wasn't like that before—not when they were together. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on her food intake from now on.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast yesterday, I think.”

“Jesus, Mac. No wonder you’re…”

“Crazy?”

“Emotional. Your blood sugar must be through the floor. What do you feel like eating?”

“Soup?” 

“Soup’s not going to cut it, Mac. You need to eat. Protein and fat. Something more substantial.” 

The door opens and they’re back in his suite. He leads her to the couch, sits down, draws her against him and picks up the phone to order scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit.

_Shit. My medication._

“Wait—Will, before you order, I need to get my things from the hotel—my prescription. I have to take it with food.” 

“Did you already check out?”

She nods. “My bags are at the front desk.”

“I’ll have someone go get them and I’ll order the food as soon as I know they’re on their way. Do you want to take a bath while we wait? Maybe try to relax a little?’ 

She nods.

He stands up, grabs a granola bar from the desk and tosses it to her on his way to the bathroom.

“Eat this, will you?” 

She nods, grateful. How she’s missed basking in the warmth of Will’s loving care.

He runs the bath (perfect temperature, as always), lays his iPod on the vanity and sets the speakers on either end of the counter. She’s touched to note that they’re the same ones from before.

She gets into the bath and feels most of the tension leave her body.

_Fait accompli._

He loves her and she loves him and they have the whole night to figure out exactly what that’s going to look like.

When her bags arrive, Will knocks on the door and nudges them inside. 

“Here are your bags, Mac.” 

She doesn’t open her eyes, just lays there peacefully, covered in bubbles.

“Thanks, Billy.”

When he sees her emerge from the bathroom, he drops the glass of scotch he’s been holding in his hand. Her hair is up, damp tendrils are clinging to her neck and she’s wearing only the slip she’d been planning to wear to her interview. He has to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw hinged.

“Sorry,” she says shyly, as he quickly tries to clean up the mess. “I must have left my pajamas in the hotel room.” 

“It’s okay—you look—“ he gulps. “Dinner’s here.”

“I’m starving—thank you.”

He puts on some music, offers her a glass of wine and tries not to stare as they eat their dinner and catch up on the last three years. 

She’s not quite ready to get into everything that happened overseas so they tread lightly over that part. 

The phone rings, interrupting them.

“It’s Charlie,” he mouths. 

“Hey Charlie, yeah she’s still here. We’re just finishing dinner.”

“Oh-ho,” Charlie crows. “So things must be going well, then.”

“Yeah—you could say that.” 

“Will? Are you trying to tell me that you two are back together?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Woohoo!!” he screams into the phone, forcing Will to jerk his head back.

“Jesus, Charlie. My _ear._ ” 

Across from him, MacKenzie smiles. 

“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about my suggestion?” 

“Thinking about it.”

“Well, don’t think too long, Will. I don’t want to lose her to the BBC. But back to business…” 

When he’s finished with the call, Will hangs up and turns back to MacKenzie. “Charlie says hello – again. He wants me to fly back tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Oh."

“Come home with me. We can go back to DC the first long weekend and move you out of your apartment.”

“Will, don’t you think that’s moving awfully fast?”

_A-ha! I knew she wasn't serious._

“Not if you’re serious about us, Mac.” 

“I _am_ serious about us, Will, but what I am supposed to do for work?”

“You shouldn’t be working,” he says flatly.

“What do you mean?”

He hesitates. 

 _Does she really not know how close she is to the deep end?_  

“You should be getting help.”

“What kind of help? What are you talking about?”

“Mac, I say this as someone who loves you and as someone who has complete confidence in your innate abilities as an EP but ...”

“Oh, my _innate abilities._ But you think those have been overtaken by my craziness, is that it?” 

He holds his hands out, trying to ward off the explosion that’s coming.

 


	21. Chapter 21

“MacKenzie, hear me out. You went through something over there and you need to deal with it. You’re still the best EP in the business but you’re in no shape to deal with the pressures of a newsroom. Take a few months off—a year—however long you need and talk to someone. I emailed Habib while you were in the bath and he already sent me the names of two trauma specialists who treat PTSD. You can come back to ACN when you’re ready.”

“I can handle myself professionally just fine, thank you very much!”

“MacKenzie,” he says quietly. “You need to think about your reputation.”

“You think I’m that unstable?” 

“Right now, this minute, I think you are.” 

She bursts into tears.  

He’s immediately up and out of his chair and pulling her into his arms.

“Mac, don’t cry. It’s just a temporary setback. With the right treatment, you’ll be back to yourself in no time—Habib said he thought it might take a few months of intensive therapy—a year at the most but you’ll come out the other side as good as new. Come home with me, Mac, and let me help you.”

She’s outraged by his assessment but behind the outrage is a little nagging thought telling her that he may be right.

“And where am I supposed to live during this treatment? How am I supposed to support myself without a job? My savings are nearly depleted, Will.”    

“You can live with me. Hell, I’ll give you a salary.”

“For living with you?” 

“No, so it won’t seem so weird to you. So you’ll feel like you’re independent.”

“But we’ll both know I won’t be.”

“Yes, you will! You can do whatever the fuck you want with the money. I don’t care. I just want you to get well, Mac. Please let me help you.” 

“You’re not trying to help me. You’re trying to control me.”

She regrets it the second it’s out of her mouth. She’s just so angry at being reduced to being a dependent. And now she’s acting like a child.

“Wow,” he says, tears pricking his eyes. “That went off the rails pretty quick.”

“Will, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that—I know you’re trying to help but I can’t be completely dependent on you. I just can’t.“ 

“Because you hate being dependent—or because you hate being dependent on me?”

“It has nothing to do with you. I don’t want to be dependent on _anyone_.”

“Well, I guess we’re kind of at a crossroads here, MacKenzie. I don’t know what to do. I want you but I’m getting the distinct impression we don’t want the same things.” 

“Will, you can’t be serious. You just lobbed a grenade in the middle of dinner and it’s going to take some time to sort it out.”

“Do you want this, MacKenzie? Do you even want me?” He’s staring at her with such vulnerability it breaks her heart.

“What are you talking about? Of course, I want you.”

“I’m getting the impression that your version of “want” looks a little different than mine.”

“What does yours look like?”

“I want to be with you, MacKenzie. All the time. I want to be able to help you without having to worry that you’re going to throw it in my face or try to make it seem like I’m trying to control you. I want you to allow me to—no, I want you to _want_ me to be there for you. I want you to be there for me. When you said you wanted me back, I assumed you meant the way we were before—but maybe I assumed wrong. I know you’re struggling but I’m struggling too and I can’t live with half-measures, Mac. Not from you. You have your issues and I have mine. And my baggage requires me to know for sure that you and I both want the same thing. And what I want is for you to move in with me.”

“Is this a test, Will?” 

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I guess it is. Look, Mac. I made a conscious decision two hours ago to believe your version of what happened between us. If I believe that version, then I have to believe you were as in love with me as I was with you. And I was so in love with you that I never wanted to spend another night apart from you ever again. I hope you thought this through, MacKenzie—before you started making your declarations.”

She can see the uncertainty in his eyes and the anger, too.

“You’re asking me to become completely dependent on you.”

“Temporarily, yes. Until you get back on your feet. But what you call ‘dependence’ I call just being in a relationship and supporting each other. Isn’t that what people who love each other do? If I was in trouble, I’d hope you’d do the same for me.”

“This feels an awful lot like an ultimatum, Will. And I don’t like ultimatums.” 

“And I don’t like being jerked around. You either love me and you want to be with me full-time—all the time— _for the rest of your life—_ or you don’t. You're either in or you’re out. Which is it?” 

Is she in? Aside from her mental health issues, can she throw herself wholeheartedly back into their relationship? When she’d first imagined how this might go she thought they’d have a long-distance relationship until they got their bearings, then she’d relocate to New York and then they could see where that took them. But that was never going to be enough for Will, not with his insecurities. She was silly to think that it would. If she wants him, she needs to be willing to commit to him without an escape hatch.

 _Christ, MacKenzie. Why are you being so flighty? You just spent the entire day convincing the man you want him and only him and now you’re getting cold feet?_  

She casts back to what their life together looked like before. The high of finding a good story and running with it, the endless bickering, the laughter, how solid and right it felt in his arms. Could they still have that if they aren’t working together, if she’s in therapy all day?

She needs help. She knows it. And he’s throwing her a lifeline. Is her ego so fragile that she’ll toss it back to him out of spite? She looks up at him and the uncertainty in his eyes breaks her heart all over again. She loves him. And she wants to be with him. With all that that entails. 

“I’m in. I’ll go home with you.” 

A smile breaks out on his face that she hasn’t seen in years.

She puts down her wine glass, gets up, walks around to his side of the table and holds out her hand.

“I’m tired, Billy. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?” 

“Sure—you take the bed and I’ll -” 

“No. I want you with me. I’ve missed you so much and now that I’ve got you back I can’t stand to be too far away from you.”

“MacKenzie, if I go to bed with you, there is zero chance that I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself.” 

“I don’t want you to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He gets up, pulls her against him and she places her hands on his chest and slides them down, sending shockwaves through his system. She can feel his heart pounding against her chest as she reaches up, caresses his cheek and then he's leaning down to press their foreheads together. They stand there, swaying, foreheads touching, and she can feel his arousal through his pants.

Then he presses his lips to hers and the connection between them becomes a paroxysm of joy as they explore each other's mouths with their tongues for the first time in three long years. It's languid, fluid, and he starts to lose himself in her, thinking,  _God, I love you._

Moments later, she’s startled, horrified when she feels his mouth leave her lips. She relaxes when she feels his lips brush against the corner of her mouth and then slowly make their way up her flushed cheek to settle in the space just below her ear. He nibbles her earlobe and she moans as she leans her ear into his mouth. She skates her hands over his chest, his back, his sides and finally settles them on his ass. He moans, pressing himself hard against her.

They're both breathing heavily now, and she’s startled again when he abandons her ear and heads straight for her mouth, kissing her with force and determination. The voice in his head is telling him to watch out but he counters those thoughts by telling himself it's okay, he can trust this, he can trust her. That exercise is made exponentially easier by the physical sensations that are crowding out all rational thought. She returns his kiss eagerly, thrilled at the sensation of finally, finally having him back in her arms where he belongs. Then his lips are on her neck, sliding down to nip at the soft hollow above her collarbone. He’s pressing his pelvis against her, desperate to get as close to her as he can and then his hands are in her hair and he’s raining kisses down her neck, nipping at the tender flesh beneath her ear.

He leads her to the bed, gently takes off her slip and panties and then he’s just staring down at her, almost in tears. She is so beautiful and he's missed her so much, missed this so much. He caresses every inch of her body and soon she’s moaning for him, impatient for him to touch her where she needs to be touched and when he finally does she thinks she will die from pleasure. And then her fingers are in his hair and she’s kissing every bit of flesh she can reach and finally when she can stand it no more, she’s begging him to finish it, begging him to finish her off. Which he does, perfectly, with such skill and tenderness that she is catapulted over the edge into oblivion.

She resurfaces the moment he follows her over and as she stares into his eyes, feels him shudder and call her name, her breath is caught, astounded, to see how much he loves her even _now_. Despite _everything_. 

Tender, loving, vulnerable Will. A heart so fragile he had to protect it with layers and layers of sarcasm but underneath it all, so tender. And so full of love for her. She vows to protect it for as long as she lives.  

_I love you, Will. So much. God, I love you._

As he comes down, he buries his face in her hair, breathes in the sweet scent of her shampoo and feels a lightness he hasn't felt in years. She was right. This is what's real. This is what they are to each other.

And then he's whispering the words she kept close to her heart during those dark days during her long exile in the wilderness.

"I love you, Kenz. Always and forever."

Tears spring to her eyes and she buries her face in his neck.

"I love you, too, Billy. Always and forever." 

 


	22. Chapter 22

They drift off to sleep, holding each other. It’s sweet and easy and he revels in being so close to her but as the night wears on, he can’t stay asleep for long. First, it’s a car horn, sharp and keening, that jerks him awake. Then it’s an elbow to the ribs from a slumbering MacKenzie. Then it’s nothing he can put his finger on: he’s just _awake_. He tries to fall back asleep each time, but he can't stop thinking about the events of the day. And that turns out to be a dangerous thing because it leads, inevitably, to other thoughts he’d rather not think at all.

He keeps circling back to what she’d said about trying to control her. He’d gladly taken her apology at face value because he’d been stung and wounded but now, hours later, alone with his thoughts and with nothing but the sounds from the street below and MacKenzie’s breathing to counter them, he’s not just annoyed—he’s righteously pissed. The only thing he’d been trying to do was _help_ her, for Christ’s sake, and she’d had the gall to act insulted—as if he’d been trying to crush her under his boot. What the fuck was that all about? Why did she have to make such a big deal out of it? Is she always going to put him on the defensive, make him feel like a chauvinistic pig every time he tries to take care of her? She makes it sound like she’s already feeling like he’s smothering her. What’s going to happen when they get back to New York? When all she has is him and therapy? 

_Hold on, she loves you. She_ ** _does_** , a small voice tries to remind him.

Then the worrier in Will starts getting _his_ licks in.

_She’s been telling herself this fairy tale about how you and she are meant to be but what she said about control, about not wanting to become dependent on you, means that everything you are, the way you love her, the only way you know_ **_how_ ** _to love her, is oppressive to her. When reality sets in, what’s going to keep her from taking off? You’re bound to fuck up sooner or later and do something that triggers her natural inclination to flee, which means you’ll never know a moment’s peace. You’ll always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering whether a fight over something seemingly inconsequential is going to be the thing that makes her walk out the door._

He can’t live with that kind of uncertainty. He won’t. He has to know for sure that she’s in. _All_ in. But how?

And then, of course, the _other_ Will has to chime in.

_You love her more than she loves you, jackass. Just fucking admit it to yourself. She as good as said she doesn’t want to move in with you and the only reason she agreed is that you essentially forced her into it. She doesn’t want to be with you full-time. She’s just doing it because she doesn’t have any other options. Get a grip, Will. It’s not too late. You had sex with her and you told her you loved her but it’s nothing you can’t take back - not if it means saving yourself years of unhappiness._

How the fuck is he supposed to know what to do? 

He needs reassurance, so he looks to the only person who can supply it: MacKenzie. She’s got her face buried in his chest, her legs intertwined with his and one arm thrown possessively over his side. _She clearly wants to be close to you, even in sleep_ , the little voice reasons. Ignoring it, he scoots down so that his face is level with hers and he’s breathing the same air. She responds by moulding herself around his body and burying her face in his neck. He turns his head to press his face into her hair and the scent is soothing but he needs more. Much more. He needs to lose himself in her, to expel the anger that’s growing inside him, so he does the only thing he can do: he grabs the back of her head, heavy in sleep, tilts it back and kisses her hard. 

“Will?“ she murmurs, confused.

He rolls her onto her back and angles himself over her, fumbling between her legs. If he can get inside her, if he can tap that connection between them and release some of the rage and uncertainty, maybe he can believe. And he _needs_ to believe because he can’t lose her. Not again. But he needs to expel the rage first.

“Open your legs, MacKenzie,” he says roughly.

Still half-asleep, she does as instructed. He does a cursory check to see if she’s ready and she responds by sleepily grinding her pelvis into his hand. 

She’s just reaching for his head and pulling him down to kiss her when all of a sudden, without warning, he plunges into her brutally. 

His cock is a battering ram. 

“ _Will_ \- “ she cries, wide-awake now. 

“Shhh, don’t talk,” he grunts.

He’s angry - there’s no mistaking that. She can feel the anger radiating off him and the Will she loves - the one who’s always taken his time to ensure she’s not only ready but desperate for him to enter her - is gone, replaced by a brute who’s ramming her cervix at all the wrong angles, making her gasp with pain.

“Will, you’re _hurting_ me. What’s going - ” 

“I need - ” he says, boring into her, hard brutal strokes interspersed with short shallow ones. He’s in a race with the other Will and he needs to expel the rage before it’s too late, before he says or decides something he can’t take back. 

“What do you need?” she says, gritting her teeth and trying to relax as he bores into her. “Talk to me.”

_“_ This - I need - _this._ ”

“Will - please,” She tries to defuse the situation by pulling him down for a kiss but he won’t allow it, turning his face away.

“Shhh,” he whispers, and then his lips are sliding down her neck and she yelps as his teeth bite into the tender flesh. Seconds later, though, he’s soothing the mark he left with his tongue. 

He digs his fingers into her inner thighs and continues to shove his cock into her, pounding her, shoving her further into the mattress. He wraps his arms around her thighs and pulls her hard against him, still shoving into her, grinding into her. He’s so amped up on anger and fear that it doesn’t take long for the tingle in his spine to begin. Good. He can finish it. And then he can think about what he needs to do. It’s only when he chances to look into her eyes that he sees the confusion - and - _anger?_ that jolts him back to reality. Just how far is he willing to go to expel his rage? 

_Okay, okay, maybe this is a little … much._

He forces himself to slow down, to reacquaint himself with his gentlemanly instincts. He’s still boring into her but it’s a little less harshly; he reaches for her clit and starts making the slow, deliberate thrusts he knows will maximize her pleasure. He wants to see her come. He wants to see her eyes roll back in her head and know it’s because he did it to her. He needs to know she’ll never come for anyone else the way she comes for him so he flicks her clit purposefully, with practised strokes. In spite of herself, her body starts reacting the way it always has with him and she can feel the pleasure start to build. This is _Will_ , after all, the man she’s been dreaming about, the man she’s been jerking off to for years. She’s willing to forget about the last few minutes - or she _was_ , at least - until she looks into his eyes and sees that they’re cold, dark, and full of rage. 

Fuck that. She’s not fucking _this_ Will. She grabs his hand and tries to move it away but he keeps stroking her, keeps boring into her, keeps forcing her to take everything he has. 

“Come for me, MacKenzie. I want to see your face when you come.”

“No, Will. Not this way.”

“I need - you - to come. I can’t stop until you do,” he says, his eyes cold and blue, punctuating every word with a deep thrust that takes her breath away.

_Enough._

She grabs his face with both hands and forces him to look into her eyes.

“Stop it, Will. _Now_.”

Christ, he was so close. So close to getting what he needs but the tone of her voice, the one that will brook no argument, cuts right through the rage and he stills on top of her. 

His head is throbbing and he’s still angry but now the anger is mixed with embarrassment. _What the fuck did I just say to her?_

“I’m sorry,” he says, dropping his head to her neck in defeat. He tries to withdraw from her, but she grabs his ass and forces him more deeply into her. 

“Stay where you are and keep moving. But do it gently, Will. Talk to me while you’re fucking me. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

She’s the one who orchestrated their entire reunion, so once again, he obeys. He starts moving again, only this time, he does it slowly, gently, making sure he’s moving his hips in the circular motion that will bring her pleasure. 

How honest should he be? Should he lay all his cards on the table? He guesses he doesn’t have much of a choice. Not if he wants a life with her. 

“I started thinking about the different ways this can play out, MacKenzie,” he says slowly, idly playing with her clit as he moves. He pretends the way he’s touching her is almost an afterthought but she knows it’s merely a way to keep her off balance, to make the pleasure sneak up on her, to build it into a conflagration when she least expects it. He dips his head down to kiss beneath her ear, then moves down to take a nipple in his mouth. He rolls his tongue over it, lets it slip out of his mouth and blows on it. She gasps, forcing herself to focus.

“Tell me.”

He brings his head up again and keeps moving, the light from the moon and the city allowing him to stare into her eyes. “I started thinking that we don’t want the same things - that you don’t want to be with me full-time, that I basically forced you into agreeing to move in with me.”

“That’s wrong, Will,” she says, feeling the heat coil in the centre of her being, every move he makes making her body hum with pleasure. Oh yes, this is working. He’s talking to her and he’s fucking her and she can hardly keep her mind on the first because her body is preoccupied with the latter but she forces herself to focus on him and what he needs to get through this. He needs to get it all out. Intellectually, he needs to verbalize everything he’s afraid of and physically, he needs to empty himself within her. She happy to help with either one because the loving Will is back and he’s talking to her, his voice all gravelly from cigarettes and lack of sleep and the rage is gone and all that’s left is the uncertainty in his eyes and she knows how to take care of that. 

“That’s _wrong_ ,” she says cupping his face and pressing her lips against his. “Christ, Billy,” she gasps into his mouth, as he hits her at the perfect angle. “I want to be with you. I love you. I’m scared about my mental health and my career, that’s all.” And then she’s moaning as he kisses the delicate skin beneath her ear and skates his teeth down her neck, nipping and suckling as he goes. “That’s where every part of what I said came from. Not you. I’m 1000% sure about you. And us.” She gasps again as he moves down to take her other nipple in his mouth, sucking it gently. She responds by bucking her hips up to meet him thrust for thrust. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way and - I need to be - more careful - oh God - with the things I say - in the heat of - the moment. Jesus, you feel so good inside me, Billy. So good. Keep doing what you’re doing and tell me more,” she says, her skin flushed and nipples hard, gripping the side of the bed with every thrust. She kisses the corner of his mouth as he continues to move, gasping at the exquisite pleasure of having him inside her.

“I started thinking - I’ll never have a moment’s peace - fuck, MacKenzie,” he gasps as he feels her clench around him. “…because I’ll always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it does. you’re going to leave. And I can’t - I couldn’t - “ 

He can’t finish the sentence. He’s a grown man, a fucking prosecutor for Christ’s sake. The number 2 news anchor in America. How can he tell her that he couldn’t survive if she left him again?But he doesn’t have to say it. She knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I’m not going to leave, Will. I promise. Doing that would be like cutting off my own arm. It’s never going to happen.”

She clenches around him and he’s going to come and although that’s exactly what he wanted moments ago, now he wants to wait for her. “Easy, honey, easy. I’m so close.” 

She stops clenching and he stills on top of her, trying to ride it out as he stares into her eyes.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what I lost,” she says, running her hands down his bare back, making him shiver. He starts to move again and she groans. “Christ, Will,” she says, every move he makes stoking the fire between her legs. “So good, you feel so fucking good...”

_Focus, dammit. Stop thinking about what’s happening between your legs and focus on what’s happening in his head._

She takes a steadying breath. 

“I love you too much and I want you too much for that to happen. You never have to worry about that again, Billy, okay? Leaving is officially not an option - for either one of us.” She presses her lips to his and gently starts to explore his mouth with her tongue before pulling back for a moment to look at him. 

He stills again, then slowly, slowly starts moving, flicking her clit as he does.

“You need to promise me something, Billy. Christ - wait a minute, wait a minute. Too close. I need to say - Shit.” She’s breathing heavily now, and she has to marshal all her focus to keep it together. “You need to promise me that from here on out, the second you start to have doubts about us, no matter where you are or what you’re doing, you will talk to me. If we’re not in the same room, you’ll pick up the phone and call me. Promise me that you won’t start acting on the stories in your head. Promise me you’ll give me a chance to fill in the blanks so that you have a complete picture of what’s going on. Promise me, okay?” 

She runs her fingers through his hair and he nods, resuming his work with his fingers. 

“Billy - Christ, what you do to me. I need to say this - Just - let me - get - this - out - ” she says as he nibbles her ear, never stopping his ministrations with his fingers.

“If making love helps, if it’s a shortcut that helps short-circuit the anger - or your doubts - I want you to reach for me. No matter where you are or what you’re doing, I want you to reach for me. And I’ll come running. I'll gladly help you work out the anger and the insecurity but you need to do it **_with_** me, not **_to_** me. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says, lazily nibbling her lip. He kisses her properly then, feels her sigh into his mouth and then he starts to move more forcefully. 

“I love you, Kenz,” he whispers and Christ if that doesn’t ratchet her excitement from a nine to a ten. 

“Say it again,” she gasps, humping indelicately against his hand as he bores into her. 

“I love you,” he says again. “You’re the love of my life.” 

He hasn’t said that to her in _so_ long, not since they were together before, and the music of the words, the love behind them and the sound of his voice makes tears prick at the corners of her eyes. They can finish this conversation later. Right now, she needs him to finish it. 

“Make me come, Billy. And then I want you to empty your balls in my belly.”

_Fuck._

He starts to work in earnest now, whipping her to a fever pitch. He’s so close it’s not going to take much to tip him over the edge, so he thinks of baseball statistics, economic forecasts and anything else he can think of to keep himself from spilling inside her. Soon she’s right there with him, all her muscles tightening in response to his thrusts as if she’s got a string connecting her clit to her cunt. 

She desperately seeks out his lips, grunting into his mouth as he increases his movements, pressing against her cervix with every thrust. He’s not grinding into it, just pressing against it, bringing that delicious pressure, that need for release.  Every thrust pulls the string taut, sending little zaps of pleasure directly to her clit. “I love you,” he says again, kissing her, and that’s all it takes to push her over the edge and when she looks into his eyes, sees the love he has for her shining out of them, she hopes he sees the same reflected in hers. 

“Come for me, Will. Let it go.”

He’s panting now, his body stiff and tight, punctuating each hard thrust with words of endearment.

“I love you, MacKenzie. I love you - so much.” 

He grunts through clenched teeth, and then he’s erupting inside her, shoving into her again and again, convulsing inside of her, becoming lightheaded and overwhelmed with everything he feels for her and then he’s kissing every part of her face and she’s holding him, rubbing his back, luxuriating in the weight of his body bearing down on hers.

“I love you, too, Billy.”

Gently, gently he withdraws from her and pulls her against him. 

The anger is gone. 


	23. Chapter 23

He awakens bleary-eyed and exhausted. The sun is high in the sky, flooding through the floor-to-ceiling windows and he curses the fact that he’d been too preoccupied to pull down the blackout shades the night before. 

He squints at the clock on the bedside table. 8:57. His flight leaves at 1:00, so there’s not much time … but there’s a little. He reaches for MacKenzie blindly, hoping to confirm the vivid snatches of memory that are flooding across him in waves: her arms around him, the sensation of her face buried in his neck, the way she’d looked at him, wide-eyed and blissfully happy when he’d finally admitted he loved her.

The way he’d woken her up in the middle of the night.

_Shit._

His arms come up empty and he frowns as he opens his eyes long enough to see that he’s alone in bed. He tentatively stretches his palm out to skate a hand across the crumpled sheets. Cold.

_ She must be in the bathroom. _

He grabs her pillow, buries his nose in it and inhales deeply, gratified that it smells just like her. Then he closes his eyes and lets himself drift, casting back over the last several hours. He’d played a dangerous game last night, letting his id run amok, and he cannot let that happen again. He’s just lucky she seemed to take it all in stride.  _He_  can’t, though. because treating her as an object - a vessel into which to discharge his insecurities - is something he would never have thought himself capable of - not in a million years. The fact that he even thought it was an appropriate response terrifies him, not least because it’s something he imagines John McAvoy might have done. He knows he can’t let it happen again but how is he supposed to prevent it when he has so little insight into why it happened in the first place?

Almost as disconcerting is his overnight transformation from a cool, confident man into a clingy boyfriend preoccupied with a single thought:  _I can’t let her walk out of my life again_. That’s a fairly amazing development considering that up until 18 hours ago, he had. He doesn’t remember being so needy when they were together before; he was madly in love with her, sure, but the fact that he’d never had any reason to doubt her allowed him to be much more relaxed. Now, every interaction with her is fraught, one alarm bell or neon sign away from thinking she’s about to abandon him. Worse, every one of his reactions to her is magnified by a factor of 100.She means everything to him, she _is_  everything to him and he knows that’s not healthy but he can’t help it and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He recognizes that’s a lot of pressure to put on one person, that we’re all responsible for our own happiness, blah, blah, blah, blah, but knowing that isn’t doing shit to allay his fears. He feels wide open, unprotected, raw and utterly vulnerable.

He has to find a way to put some distance between them. If he doesn’t, what’s going to stop his id from pushing him to do something he can’t take back? But what can he do? He'd insisted she move in with him and he'd encouraged her to miss her interview. He can’t back out now. 

He opens his eyes to glance around the room and despite everything that's just gone through his mind, his heart starts to race. Her slip isn't where he’d thrown it and her bags aren't in the middle of the floor where he'd tripped over them during a late-night foray to the bathroom.

_ Where the fuck is she? Shouldn’t she be back in bed by now? _

_ She’s got to be around here somewhere,  _ the more sanguine part of his psyche answers _. She promised she wouldn’t leave, so just fucking relax. _

He quickly swivels his head around, scanning each surface in the room, looking for traces of her.

Nothing. Even the dinner things are gone. She must have put them in the hallway.

“Mac?” he calls softly, trying to sound casual, terrified she'll hear the near-panic in his voice. 

No answer.

He forces himself to get out of bed slowly and deliberately. Then he forces himself to walk slowly and deliberately around the suite, peering into every corner, every room. She’s not in the bathroom. She’s not in the living room. She’s not anywhere he can see. He’s just about to lose his shit when he passes a curtain he hadn’t noticed before. He almost yanks it open but forces himself to open it slowly and deliberately instead.

It’s a second balcony, one he didn’t know existed, and she’s standing there, holding a mug of tea and looking out at the city below. She’s wearing his University of Nebraska sweatshirt and running shorts that seem too short to be legal.

_ Thank God. _

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says as she turns around to face him, wearing that lopsided grin he loves so well. He ignores an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms.

“Hey,” he hears himself say.

She frowns when she looks into his eyes, her own internal alarm bells going off when she sees the shades are drawn. 

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says coolly. “Did you get the newspaper?”

“Yes,” she says, pointing to the table in front of him. “It’s that thing covered in newsprint right in front of you.” 

“Oh - didn’t see it,” he says quickly, picking it up. He turns around and heads back into the suite, pretending to be engrossed in the front page.

She waits a beat and follows him to the coffee maker, then watches as he adds the filter and coffee to the basket. When he presses Start, he feels her wrap her arms around him from behind and she rests her head against his back. They stand there, not saying anything, and wait for the coffee to finish.

He doesn’t acknowledge her, pretending instead to concentrate on adding cream and sugar to the mug. He’s so distracted by her arms around him that he adds six packets of sugar instead of three and makes a mess of the tiny creamer dispensers, sending them skittering along the counter and onto the floor. She loosens her hold so he can bend down to pick them up and when he's done, he turns around and motions for her to move out of his way.

“Excuse me,” he says, trying not to step on her feet as he maneuvers himself around her to head for the next room, setting his coffee on the desk.

Hurt and bewildered, she follows him. She stops next to him and puts her hand on his forearm, encouraging him to look her way.

He doesn’t.

_ Goddammit._

She tries to tamp down her frustration.

“Will?” she says sweetly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says.

_ Christ, are we back here again? _

“Don’t underestimate how well I know you. You’re closing yourself off from me. Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m not thinking anything. I should pack," he says,  rummaging through the papers on the desk.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you, MacKenzie. I’m trying to get ready to go,” he says.

“Look at me, Will.”

He can’t. If he does, all will be revealed and he's not ready for her to know what a terrified idiot he is just yet.

Ignoring her, he says over his shoulder, “Don’t overthink things. Everything’s fine.”

He starts sorting through the papers to see if there's anything he should keep. He's about to toss a fistful into the wastebasket on the other side of the desk when she steps slightly to the side to plant herself next to him, blocking his access. He rolls his eyes, steps behind her and starts tossing sheets of paper into it. She turns around, watching him and when he steps in front of her again to resume his work, she grabs his hand. He looks down at their joined hands, then slowly raises his eyes to her. He's caught.

She doesn't recognize the Will staring back at her. It's not the cold one and it's not the loving one, either. It's a brand new one, who looks like he's got something to hide. She doesn't care for  _this_  Will one bit.

_How many times are you going to force me to break down the walls between us? Why is it always up to me? Can’t we have breakfast first?_

Apparently, it's not in the cards, so she guesses she'll do what she has to do. They've come this far and she's not going to let him sabotage the hard-won peace they've forged over the last 24 hours. She'd been blissfully happy when she'd awakened this morning, thinking they'd finally cleared away the bulk of whatever shit lay between them. She'd been optimistic, ready to start anew, and now he's threatening to upend her plans and s he won't stand for it.

“It’s not fine or you wouldn’t be acting this way. What’s going on?”

He sighs and tries to wrench his hand from her grasp.

“Look - will you just let it go? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s not the promise you made me last night.”

“Jesus, Mac. Am I not allowed to have my own private thoughts?”

“No. Not when they affect our relationship. Talk to me.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get back to New York,” he says, picking up handfuls of crap on the desk. He really needs to be better organized. 

"If you don’t tell me what the fuck has gotten into you this morning, I’m not going to New York.”

Alarmed, his eyes dart to her face but then another thought occurs to him:

_ Maybe that would be better. Until I can figure out what’s going on in my head. _

“Oh, so you’re just going to cut and run?" he says aloud. "Suit yourself.”

He turns on his heel and heads for the bedroom.

“Are you  _serious_?” she calls after him.

“Are _you_?" he says, turning around. "You know what, MacKenzie? You should do what you need to do. I learned how to live without you once before. I guess I can do it again.”

Her eyes fill with tears.

“God _dammit_ , Will. You’re doing it again. What did I tell you about not acting on the stories in your head?”

“This isn’t a fucking story, MacKenzie! It’s reality!”

“What is?”

_ Why does she have to nail him to the wall every single time? Doesn't she know she's poking at a beehive? _

“I’m out of control and I can’t trust myself, okay?” he explodes. “And you shouldn’t either!”

“What do you mean?”

“Christ, Mac, what I did to you last night. I don’t know how you can even _talk_ to me.”

“Don’t you dare use that to close yourself off from me, Will. We’re in a weird place right now but it’s just temporary.”

“How can you just gloss over it like that? I  _forced_  myself on you, MacKenzie. Doesn’t that scare the shit out of you? Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“No!”

“Well, maybe you should be. I don’t know what I’m capable of - not anymore.”

“You stopped when I told you to. End of story. Let it go.”

“Why are you so willing to?”

“Because what you did is right out of the _“I’ve been cheated on”_  playbook, Will! People have over-the-top reactions to being cheated on, especially when they’re trying to find a way to trust the other person again, and I have dozens of peer-reviewed journal articles to prove it. From everything I’ve read - and I’ve read a lot about this - those reactions will stop at some point but in the meantime, the negative emotions have to come out; otherwise, they fester and the relationship rots from within.”

“So, you’re willing to let me use you as I see fit?”

“No. You can’t just unilaterally decide to act; you have to get my permission. But once you have that, I’m happy to work with you to discharge those feelings.”

“How can that be healthy?”

“ _Will._ Why are you trying to make me feel guilty …or …. defective … because I wasn’t bothered by what happened last night?”

“Because I'm pretty sure it means you’ve got a screw loose.”

“Except for the PTSD, I’m perfectly sane. It didn’t bother me because it was an anomaly, not the norm. It’s not who you are, or what you’ve become - it was a fucked-up response to what happened between us. It was the first time you ever acted like that - and it will be the last - or I will kick your ass or leave.”

“I don’t know where it came from, Mac. How am I supposed to prevent it from happening again if I don’t know where it came from?”  He can’t look at her because he is so fucking ashamed to say what he’s about to say but he needs to say it because it’s the truth and she needs to be able to protect herself.  “What if you’re not safe with me, MacKenzie?”

On the one hand, her heart breaks for him. On the other, she is so tired of being the only one willing to fight for them. She’s tired and hungry and all she wants to do is climb into her own bed and sleep for a week. But she doesn’t even have her own bed anymore. It’s in DC, with the rest of her life. Fine, she’ll take crawling into Will’s bed for a week, so long as he doesn’t do or say anything that requires her to fight yet another imaginary battle in his head. But she’s not in New York yet, and she doesn’t have a bed, so she has no choice - not at the moment.

“Will,” she says tiredly. “I was in Afghanistan for two years so I have a rather well-developed sense of danger. You’re not dangerous. You did something idiotic because you were trying to work something out in your head. It was selfish and inconsiderate but that’s all it was. It doesn’t make you a monster.”

“Mac, why do you always let me off the hook? I can essentially do whatever I want and you’ll either excuse it or interpret it in whatever way allows you to keep this thing going."

“Because I know I'm right.”

“What if you’re wrong?"

“Then we’ll deal with it."

"What if I hurt you?” 

"God, Will, I'm not going to let you hurt me. I was the top student in my Krav Maga self-defense classes and I took the instructor down more times than any other student in there. And you know I can do it because I’m crafty. I’m not saying that what you did didn’t annoy the hell out of me at first but as long as you’re aware of it and actively working on it, I think we’ll be okay."

"You told me I was hurting you last night."

"Yes, because I was completely unprepared! One second I was half-asleep and you were kissing me and the next you were buried in me up to the hilt, rearranging my insides."

"So you admit it. I _did_ hurt you, MacKenzie. Don't try to whitewash it just because you want us to stay together."

"Oh my _God_ , Will. Are you trying to back out? After I canceled my interview!?"

"No! I just don't want to hurt you."

"You _are_! You're trying to back out! After everything you said to me last night about loving me! Were you just _fucking_ with me?"  

"No! I do love you! I just don't want to hurt you!"

"You're hurting me _now,_ Will! You want to know something? I'm hungry and I'm an emotional basket case and I am tired of being the only one willing to fight for us. You need to get your shit together and be willing to do whatever it takes to make this work. And I mean _whatever_ it fucking takes, Will! Are you in or are you out?"

That snaps him out of it. She's right. He _has_ been letting her do all the heavy lifting.

"I'm in," he says quietly.

"Well??" she shrieks. "How are you going to fix this?!"

"Take it easy, Kenz. Right now, we're gonna order breakfast. I'm going to pack and then I'm going to get on that plane. When I get home, I'm going to make an appointment with Habib and get things ready for you. Then you're going to get on your plane and when you get in tonight, my driver is going to pick you up and bring you home. And when he does, I'm going to feed you and run you a bath and you're gonna relax and I'm going to take care of you and we're going to go to bed and put this shitty morning behind us, okay?" he says, almost pleadingly. "I love you. I'm in."

She exhales the breath she's been holding.

"Okay."

He reaches for her, pulls her into his arms and drops a kiss into her hair. He's fully prepared to do whatever it takes to make this work. He has to be. He can't lose her again.

 


	24. Chapter 24

It takes every ounce of willpower he has to leave before she does but they’d agreed it would be easier to avoid the cameras at both ends if they fly separately. In spite of everything, it seems he's right back where he started, terrified she's going to change her mind and hop on a plane to DC or London instead. He tries to hide it but she knows him too well; she can see it in the way his mouth opens and closes when they're saying goodbye, a silent plea to come with him that dies on his lips. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” she reassures him.

“Promise?” He reaches out to cup her cheek with his hand, four fingers grazing the smooth, soft skin of her cheek. She leans into it, closes her eyes and exhales, nodding.

“Promise.”

Then the warmth of his hand is gone and she opens her eyes to search his blue ones.

“I love you, you know,” he whispers.

The words surge through her - warm, reassuring and buoying. She nods, feels the tears prick at her eyes.

“I do know. I love you, too.”

His long arms loop around her back and he crushes her against his chest. When he releases her, he frowns.

“Why are you crying?” he asks.

She smiles a watery smile.

“Just - everything. It’s been a long 24 hours.”

He nods and she can see that he’s not quite sure what to make of that statement. He needs to be reassured. She can do that. She takes his hand and stares into his eyes.

“You know, when they introduced you yesterday, onstage, for a second, I couldn’t believe it. It was you. In the flesh. You were actually there. Right in front of me. I’d imagined what it would feel like to see you again countless times but I was completely unprepared for how much I was physically drawn to you. You were like that magnet in Tallahassee, Will - you know,  _the strongest one in the world_? You were pulling me closer and closer and it took everything I had not to run up on that stage and tackle you. I wanted you so badly. And it was so fucking painful because you didn’t belong to me anymore and I was terrified I wasn’t going to get the chance to fix it, that you’d walk off that stage and that would be it - I’d never see you again. It was unthinkable.  _Unbearable_.” She smiles up at him, blinking back the tears. “And now here we are. Together. And we’re going to make it. It’s just a lot to take in.”

Goddamn if that doesn’t make him feel a thousand times better. She loves him. She _loves_  him. It’s a fucking miracle. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to her lips. It’s full of everything he feels but can’t say because if he does, he’s going to lose it. She skates her tongue across his bottom lip and he presses her more tightly against him. She pulls away reluctantly, smoothing his collar as she goes.

“They’re waiting for you, Billy. You should go. I’ll see you soon.”

He nods.

“I love you,” he says again.

“Me too.”

He nods again and turns around and then he’s walking away. She watches him go, missing him already. She’s equal parts terrified and elated at the prospect of ditching her own life to forge a duo with Will but she’s going to make damned sure they get their happy ending. She’s got a few hours before she has to be at the airport so she heads back into the bedroom, pulls down the blackout curtains, sets her phone alarm and climbs into bed, burying her face in Will’s pillow. It smells like him: warm and sweet, earthy and  _Will_. She closes her eyes and lets herself drift.

Will heads downstairs and out the back entrance where the security detail bundles him into the backseat of an SUV with tinted windows. They manage to escape the notice of the paparazzi who are still waiting outside and he figures he’ll call Charlie when he gets home. Right now, he’s got more important work to do. He wants to line up a few deliveries before MacKenzie arrives tonight - things he hopes will make her feel more at home.

He spends the hour before his flight leaves on the phone. First, it’s to leave an urgent message for Habib ( _Do you have any appointments tomorrow? Something’s happened and I could really use your help_ ). Then it’s to interrupt his accountant’s golf game to ask him to set up a bi-weekly deposit into MacKenzie’s checking account.

Next, the bed. MacKenzie’s always been superstitious and he predicts she’ll balk at sleeping in a bed he shared with another woman so he arranges for the delivery of a new mattress set, identical to the one he owns. There’s $7,000 down the drain.

He’s waiting for confirmation on the bed when he spies a SkyMall catalog on the table next to him and by the time the mattress woman is back on the line, he’s circled a dozen things he thinks she might like: an emerald green silk chemise (because it reminds him of the color of her eyes), slippers, yoga pants, a couple of sports bras and panties, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt and a leather jacket. He has some of her stuff from before but figures she probably won’t be too eager to don clothes steeped in three years’ of grime and his tears. Who knew you could get same-day delivery for the right price? 

Finally, he calls his agent and asks him to place a grocery delivery that includes everything she used to like to eat, plus the things he’d seen her eat this morning. He knows he’s gone overboard - as usual - but he doesn’t want to take any chances.


	25. Chapter 25

Three hours later, he’s back in his apartment and annoyed as hell because nothing’s arrived yet. There’s nothing he can do but wait, so he stretches out on the bed, planning to catnap until the first delivery gets here. He’s relieved when the doorbell finally rings - until he glances at the clock. He’s been asleep for two fucking hours, which means he only has an hour-and-a-half to get things ready. Luckily, the deliveries come in quick succession but by the time everything’s arrived, MacKenzie's due in 30 minutes and he’s freaking out over the state of the apartment. There are three bags of groceries to be put away, flowers, three bags of clothes and the mattress set. All of them are spread out on his living room floor.

_Christ, McAvoy, get it together. She’s going to think you’re pushing too hard, too fast. If last night’s escapades didn’t push her away, this just might. You need to hide 75% of this shit before she gets here._

But where? His apartment’s one of those open concept jobs (translation: zero storage), so where the fuck is he going to put it all?

Suddenly it occurs to him that he needs to put her name on the admittance list so he calls downstairs to say he’s getting a roommate who will need full entry and exit privileges. The guy on the other end of the line says he’ll need to fill out a form for that - in triplicate - so he quickly runs downstairs, signs the form and is back in five minutes.

Now, the groceries. He’s frantically trying to put them away when Charlie calls.

“Hey, Charlie,” Will says, trying to find a place for the tea and nuts she used to like to snack on. “How are you? Shit!” he says, sucking the finger he just crushed in the cupboard door.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah - just pinched my finger.”

“Listen, I’m downstairs," Charlie says. "Can I come up?”

_Why the hell are you here now when I’ve got so much work to do? Can’t this wait until tomorrow?_

“Sure,” Will says, putting away a carton of the same brand of soy milk he’d seen her drink this morning. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah - see you in a minute.”

He doesn’t have time to ruminate because the man will be here in 30 seconds. Will takes a quick look around and realizes everything in sight is going to raise more questions than he has time to answer, so he decides to hide the most embarrassing shit first, chief among them the chemise. He thinks she’ll like it - it’s demure and classy and covers everything, plus, it’s similar to the ones she used to wear when she felt like making him howl at the moon.

He’s also got to hide the _other_  thing he purchased on impulse: satin sheets. He doesn’t remember ever seeing anything like them on her bed (not that he’d know them if he saw them) but now that he thinks of it, she’ll probably hate them, thinking they’re too clichéd. He’s got to stow those first.

The elevator bell dings, so Will hot-foots it over to the couch and shoves the sheets and chemise under the couch cushions. Charlie enters just as he’s patting them down and he thanks Christ Charlie’s too distracted by the mattress in the middle of the floor and the surrounding debris to notice.

“Will,” Charlie says, surveying the mess. “Are you doing some spring cleaning? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Excuse the mess.”

“What’s with the mattress?”

“The delivery guys are taking the old one out to the truck, then they’re coming back up to put this one on the frame.”

“Okay. Didn’t you just get back? When did you have time to buy a mattress?”

“I ordered it at the airport.”

“Why?”

“Long story. Listen, you want something to drink? The usual?”

Charlie nods.

“Okay, have a seat.”

Will goes to fix Charlie a drink, Charlie sits down on the couch and the sheets and chemise fall to the floor. He picks them up, grinning, and holds them out to Will when he returns with his drink.

“Give me those,” Will says, snatching them from Charlie’s hands. "And don’t ask."

“Wasn’t going to,” Charlie laughs.

“Listen, I’ve got company coming in 20 minutes. Mind if we talk while I finish tidying up?”

“Who?”

Will ignores him and heads to the kitchen to finish putting the groceries away. Charlie follows behind, takes a bag and starts to help.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

Charlie examines the contents of the grocery bag and when he looks at Will, his eyes are soft and affectionate.

_Yorkshire tea. McVitie’s Hobnobs. Britgrocer Lemon Curd._

“MacKenzie’s your visitor?”

“Yes,” he says sheepishly. “I bought way too much stuff and she’s going to think I’m coming on too strong and I don’t have any place to hide half this shit so she won’t know what an idiot I am!”

“Calm down, Will. I think she’ll be pleased. How long is she staying?”

He looks at Charlie and swallows hard.

“She’s moving in.”

Charlie raises his eyebrows.

“That was fast.”

“Yeah - well, not really - you know what I mean.”

Charlie nods. They finish putting the groceries away and while Will vaguely wonders why Charlie still isn’t talking, he’s too preoccupied to find out because the movers are back and when they move the new mattress set into the bedroom, they knock over the bags of clothes. Will tries to save time by shoving all of them into one bag but it promptly splits at the seams.

“Christ!”

He gathers everything up and heads for the bedroom, arms overflowing, nearly running the movers over in the process. He gives them a lavish tip and while Charlie sees them out, Will starts tossing the contents of his dresser drawers onto the bed, forgetting this means his boss is about to see his underwear. He carefully folds MacKenzie’s things and places them in the empty drawers. He finds a vase under the bathroom sink, dumps a bouquet of flowers in it and puts it on top of the dresser.

Charlie follows behind. “Will, you forgot the water.”  

Will waves him off, so Charlie heads back to the bathroom, fills the vase with water and rearranges the flowers just so.

When he comes back, he finds Will scooping armfuls of his clothing off the bed. Charlie watches, amused, as Will opens the door of his clothes closet, dumps the whole mess on the floor and kicks it to the back of the closet. He shoves the clothes that are on hangers as far over as he can manage, which leaves about two feet for MacKenzie’s things. It’s only then that he realizes he has not even one fucking extra hanger to give her so he starts ripping his own clothes off theirs and dumping them on the floor.

“Calm down, Will. She’s not going to care.”

“Look - this place is a disaster and she’s going to be here soon and did you know that the only reason penthouses look great in photos is because there is actually no fucking storage? Where am I going to put all this shit?”

He kicks the rest of his clothes to the back of the closet.

“I’ll help.”

“Yeah?” Will says, grateful.

“Yeah. What’s next?”

“The bed. But let me hang up this jacket first.”

He grabs the leather jacket, carefully hangs it up on her side of the closet and closes the door. When he turns around to face Charlie, he tries to ignore the amusement on the older man’s face because he does not have time for this shit. MacKenzie is due in 10 minutes and he needs to make the bed. He grabs the satin sheets ( _fuck it - she'll tell him if she hates them_ ), opens the package and throws one corner of the fitted one to Charlie. Now that Charlie has seen the contents of his underwear drawer, he guesses it’s far past the time for embarrassment.

Charlie rubs the sheet against his cheek.

“Soft,” he says.

“Shut up.”

They finish making the bed and Will finds a clean comforter in the cupboard. It doesn’t match the sheets but it’s one he’s had for a long time. He thinks he even had it  _Before_ , so she may recognize it. Either fucking way, it will have to do.


	26. Chapter 26

He looks around, trying to see what he missed. The bathroom. He grabs four of the candles his sister left on her last visit, places them strategically around the tub and dumps the contents of one drawer into a garbage bag, which he stows under the sink. He lays his iPod and the speakers on the vanity and places another bouquet of flowers next to them.

Charlie follows behind to rearrange them and Will gives him a look but Charlie just shrugs.

“I’m in charge of the floral arrangements at my house.”

Next, it's dinner. He picks up the phone and orders twice his usual order, plus four of the dishes she used to like before.

All that's left to do is grab a bottle of wine and collapse onto the couch. Done, with three minutes to spare. 

Charlie sits down next to him.

“A driver’s picking her up?”

“Yeah,” he says wearily. “She should be here in a few minutes. Thanks for being so patient. What’s up?”

Charlie eyes him carefully. Should he drop the bomb now or wait until MacKenzie gets here? Neither of them is going to be thrilled with the news but Will is probably in better shape to handle it. Maybe he should let Will tell her.

“This concerns MacKenzie, too -”

Will cuts him off before he can finish.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about your offer, Charlie. She’s thinking she might need a few months off to regroup and settle in.”

Although he trusts Charlie with his life, he’s still ACN’s news director. News of MacKenzie’s PTSD might tie Charlie’s hands when it comes to making job offers.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What’s going on?”

Charlie sighs and decides that perhaps it’s better to reveal this little chestnut before MacKenzie gets here after all.

“You told me you and MacKenzie got stuck in an elevator yesterday.”

Will nods.

“Did you know they have security cameras in elevators, Will? Ones that record video _and_  audio?”

All the color drains from Will’s face.

_Holy fuck._

“Who has the tape?”

“We don’t know. Some agent’s shopping it around. We’ve got every one of ACN’s lawyers on it - they’re threatening him with breach of privacy.”

“There’s no presumption of privacy in an elevator, Charlie!”

“Guess that slipped your mind.”

Will’s heart is racing. This cannot get out - it would ruin his career, her career -  _everything_.

“How much does he want?”

“He doesn’t have a number,” Charlie says, swirling the scotch around in his glass. “He’s trying to pitch it to the highest bidder.”

“Get him on the phone. I’ll pay him anything he wants.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Charlie, you don’t know what’s on that tape. It cannot get out.”

“Actually, I do,” he says, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

The effect is immediate. Cold sweat beads on Will's skin and he recoils in absolute horror as snatches of their conversation come back to him. Charlie -  _Charlie_  - his best friend, the man he looks up to above all others - heard his deepest, darkest secrets? Heard him screaming at MacKenzie? Heard MacKenzie screaming at him? Heard him talk about himself in the third person? He looks down, unable to look Charlie in the eye. He’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.

"You heard - “ Will can’t finish it. Then he forces himself to go on. “You mean to tell me,” he says slowly, “That when I say, “Seventeen times,” you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes. In MacKenzie’s defense, Marian tried to get  _me_  to go bowling with her once.”

“Charlie - Christ - Who else has seen it?”

“Reese and Leona. All the lawyers. Luckily, they were already in the office working on the fallout from your Northwestern speech.”

“Oh my God, Charlie. One - I’m never going to be able to look any of you in the eye again and two - this cannot get out. It will ruin Mac’s career!”

“Actually, MacKenzie comes off looking pretty level-headed. You, on the other hand, LOOK LIKE A FUCKING LUNATIC!” he shouts. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, WILLIAM?!”

“I wasn’t thinking, Charlie! She just showed up - and then she started trying to break me down like she always does - I don’t know where all that shit came from - it’s like it was buried - waiting for a chance to come out! Fuck, Charlie - all that psychobabble shit she was spouting about my childhood - and my birthday - you heard it all? I’ll never be able to look anyone in the eye again. Ever!”

“Look, you came unglued a couple times but overall it wasn’t - okay, I’m not gonna say it wasn’t bad because it was fucking terrible - but overall and this is straight from Leona’s mouth. She thought you came off like -“

“A fucking lunatic!”

“No, Will.“ Charlie says, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Like a man desperately in love. Which is what you are, right? Everything I’ve watched you do tonight - the groceries, the clothes, the bed, the flowers - those reporters yesterday. You are desperately in love with MacKenzie, aren’t you?”

Will can’t speak - he can only nod. The events of the day, the prospect of even more humiliation - he’s barely holding it together. Charlie’s eyes soften as he looks at Will, whose eyes are filling with tears.

“That’s what we heard on the tape, Will. A man desperately in love, desperately trying to pretend he wasn't. It wasn’t all bad - you came through when she needed you - helping her with that panic attack. And that sweet story she told about your birthday - that was gold. If they cut that together with the shots of you rescuing MacKenzie from the reporters, Leona thinks it will do wonders to mitigate the PR disaster over what you said at Northwestern. Which I loved, by the way.”

“You can thank MacKenzie for that. She was producing, using her sketchpad as a teleprompter.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“Charlie, what are we going to do? MacKenzie’s going to flip -“

“Hopefully the lawyers can bury it. If they can’t, well…Leona seems to think it will make your ratings go through the roof, especially among women because what’s on that tape was fucking riveting. I gotta ask, though - what happened? How did you go from screaming at her to asking her to move in with you?”

“I just decided to. You know how miserable I’ve been without her. She gave me the chance to be happy and I took it. End of story.”

“Good man.”

 


	27. Chapter 27

At that moment, the elevator dings.

Will is up, out of his chair and planting himself in front of it so fast Charlie can’t help but laugh. As soon as the door opens, MacKenzie drops her case on the floor and launches herself into Will’s arms.

“Billy!”

She kisses him passionately and he responds because only a corpse wouldn’t respond to having MacKenzie McHale in his arms but when he feels her tongue skate across his lips he knows he has to end this or risk giving Charlie an eyeful.

He pulls back, reluctantly, and her brow furrows in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We have company. Charlie,” he says, motioning behind him.

“Charlie?“ She peers around Will to see Charlie standing awkwardly by the couch.

“Charlie!”

She runs over to him and he pulls her into a hug.

“MacKenzie Morgan McHale. It has been way too long. I want to hear all about your adventures but I think Will may have other plans for you tonight. You two kids enjoy your evening.”

He looks meaningfully at Will.

“Will, you’ll tell her?”

Will nods.

“Tell me what?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Will says, trying to steer her to the couch. “Dinner will be here soon. Do you want me to run you a bath?”

“I want you to tell me what’s going on,” she says, looking at Will. She can tell he’s in full protector mode so she’s unlikely to hear the full story - whatever it is - from him.

“Charlie,” she calls, just as he’s about to step into the elevator. “Wait a minute. Don’t go.”

Charlie turns around.

“Will you tell me what’s going on? Will’s liable to hold something back because he’s trying to protect me. Does it have something to do with the reporters? I know I had that panic attack in the center of them but I don’t think it reflected badly on Will. He tried to help me. Is it because of what he said onstage?”

“I’ll let Will tell you.”

“Charlie, please. I want the whole story and there’s a very good chance I’m not going to get it from Will.”

Well, that pisses Will off. A little. No, a _lot_. Because once again she’s insinuating that she thinks his kind of care is oppressive.

“Go ahead, Charlie,” Will says angrily. “She’s all yours.”

“Billy - I’m not trying to insult you - your first instinct is to protect me and I love you for that but I want the whole story.”

“Give the lady what she wants. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He turns to walk away but she grabs his hand.

“Will - please stay - if it’s bad, I’d rather have you close by than all the way in the kitchen.”

“Why? So I can protect you? Thought you weren’t interested.”

“ _Will_. Just because I want to hear the truth doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”

“Fine. Go ahead, Charlie.” He knows he’s acting like a child but the neon signs are flashing again.

_She doesn’t want your brand of devotion. What the fuck are you going to do about it?_

That voice is so loud - and repetitive - that he only hears snatches of what Charlie’s saying. “…security tape…recorded…trying to sell it to the highest bidder…”

MacKenzie's face goes white, and she looks at Will in horror.

“Our conversation. In the elevator. Was recorded. And is in the process of being sold. Is that what he’s trying to tell me?”

He nods.

“Fuck.”

“The lawyers are trying to bury it, Mac. It’s not a done deal,” Will says, trying to reassure her.

“If it gets out - your career - and mine - will be ruined. We’ll be laughing stocks!”

“It’ll blow over. You know how these things are. We’ll just have to wait it out until something else captures their interest. And even if it doesn’t, it’ll be fine - we’ll still have each other.”

“As if that will be enough, Will!”

He stares at her, eyes blazing. 

_Is she actually fucking saying that without our careers we’ll have nothing? That I’m not enough for her?_

“Why wouldn’t it be?” His voice lowers and she can see that she’s stepped in it. Again. “That’s what the last 24 hours have been about, right? You and me, together. It’s the only thing that matters, right?”

Can’t he see that they’ve never been together and  _not_  had jobs? They’ve always worked - it’s been the passion that fuelled their relationship. If they no longer have that, what are they to each other? It will mean a whole new way of interacting. A whole new life. A whole new  _everything_. What if they no longer have anything in common?

_What if he doesn't love me anymore?_

“It’s not that simple, Will, and you know it!”

“It is to  _me_. I don’t a give a fuck what I’m doing as long as I have you. But that’s not how you feel, is it?” His voice is low and angry. “Cause your career means more to you than I do.”

MacKenzie opens her mouth to respond but Charlie gets there first. Although it’s none of his fucking business, they are not going to destroy each other on his watch.

“Time out, kids. Will has a job and so do you - whenever you want it.”

God bless Charlie. The only thing standing between them and destitution.

“MacKenzie, I can assure you that was not a career-ending tape - for either one of you. In fact, Leona thinks it’s going to win Will a new generation of fans. Everyone’s a sucker for a good love story.”

“Love story? We said horrible things to each other, Charlie.”

“Yes, you did, but we’ve all been there. We all say awful things to the people we love in the heat of the moment. It just doesn't get recorded. What's on that tape is real and raw and if it gets out, people are going to eat it up.”

“Are you saying you  _want_  it to get out?”

“No, but if it does, it’s not the end of the world. Will comes off looking deranged but in love and you come off looking like a producer who can handle the most difficult anchor in the business. That was the consensus of everyone in the room. Now, relax, you two, and enjoy your evening. It’s not worth getting upset about. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Charlie says to Will.

“Thanks, Charlie. For everything,” Will says, shaking his hand.

Charlie kisses MacKenzie on the forehead and leaves.

MacKenzie looks at Will, who’s radiating anger. He doesn’t say anything, just heads to the kitchen, leaving MacKenzie alone in the living room, a jumble of thoughts weighing her down.

_Is he always going to assign the worst possible interpretation to whatever I say? If this tape gets out, what the fuck are we going to do?_

In the kitchen, Will can feel the anger starting to take over.

_It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? I’m just trying to take care of her, for Christ’s sake, and she has to humiliate me in front of Charlie._

Suddenly, the more rational part of his psyche kicks him in the ass - hard.

_You’re doing it again. Stop it. Listen to what she said, not what it felt like she said. Feelings are not facts. She didn’t say she didn’t love you. She said she wanted the whole truth. There’s a difference._

His fists unclench and he takes a deep breath, grateful he just dodged a bullet. His hands are shaking as he pours them both a glass of wine. When he returns to the living room, he finds her curled up in the corner of the couch, legs drawn up and trying not to cry.

He sets the glasses down on the coffee table, sits down on the couch and pulls her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Kenz. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

_Well, that’s progress._


	28. Chapter 28

“I shouldn’t have said what I said, either,” she says.

“What did you mean? When you said, “'As if that will be enough?'” He asks because he has to know the answer. Because he won't be able to _rest_ until he knows the answer.

”I'm scared, Will. We’ve always worked together - if we don’t have that as the foundation of our relationship, what do we use in its place?”

”You think our careers are the foundation of our relationship?”

“Haven’t they been? Historically? From sun up, 'til sundown we breathed the news, together. Fighting over it, being exhilarated by it, coming home and taking it to bed with us.”

”I didn't love - I _don't_ love you because you're an EP. I love you because you're you."

"How do you know that, though, Will? That theory's never been tested."

"Well, I guess that tells me all I need to know about your confidence in our relationship. And how you feel about me."

"Will, those are my very worst fears talking."

"Yeah? Well, maybe you should have kept them to yourself because now you've got _me_ wondering. If that's the way you feel, if we're on such shaky ground, what the fuck are we even doing here?"

"I was trying to tell you how I feel, Will, I’m trying to be honest, so I can connect with you."

"By telling me our relationship is doomed unless we have our careers to prop it up? That's a great way to connect, Mac. I feel _really_ connected to you."

"Why was it okay for you to express your fears about our relationship last night but it's not okay for me to express mine?"

"Because all it takes to allay _my_ fears is something I can get from you: a promise that you won't leave. In order to allay _your_ fears, every fucking planet in the universe has to align a certain way. You're saying we’re doomed unless we have something to prop us up that's completely out of my control. What am I supposed to do with that information? I can't control how the public is going to react if that tape gets out. I can't control whether either one of us will have a job. You're basically saying there's nothing I can do to protect our relationship because I'm completely at the mercy of something I can't control. I just have to sit back and wait to see if fortune smiles on me or whether it blows up in my face. Is that supposed to make me feel good?"

"Oh, Billy."

"I know women like to think out loud and men like to fix things but you know something, Mac? Fear is contagious. You can't just start spouting off without considering how the other person in the room's going to take it."

"You're right. You're _right_ , Billy. I'm sorry."

"I don't know what the fuck I'm even supposed to think right now. Are you really that unsure about us?"

"Not you, Will. I know how I feel about you.”

“But only if I’m gainfully employed, right - or is it only if _you’re_ gainfully employed?”

“Will, all I’m saying is that when we were together before, part of the reason it worked as well as it did was because of the work we shared. We dove headfirst into it and when we came up for air, even when we were arguing, that passion informed nearly every aspect of our lives together. Don’t you remember?"

He does. They’d get into these huge fights over the rundown or a story or the color of his tie and by the end of broadcast he’d be so pissed he’d refuse to take even the slightest direction from her. By 9:00, he’d be pulling out his earpiece, throwing it at the monitors and stalking towards the control room. He'd yank the door open and the staff would scoot back, eager to avoid the all-too-obvious acrimony between their anchor and his EP. He’d calm himself long enough to quietly yet insistently ask her if he might have a word with her, only to be met with silence. She knew she shouldn’t allow their colleagues to see behind the professional veneer she and Will had tried so hard to cultivate but sometimes she was so pissed it was either that or do something far less professional – like screaming that she hoped he was going to enjoy sleeping on the couch tonight because she wasn’t going to let him near her with a ten-foot pole.

He’d stand there, glowering, unnerving the staff with his silence, while she took her sweet time finishing up. Suddenly, going over the graphics for tomorrow’s broadcast became a pressing concern, as did sorting out electrical problems that were definitely the purview of the electrician’s union. He wouldn't say a word and she would feel his eyes on her, studying her, cataloging every move she made. Despite his anger, she could always feel the thrum of his desire just below the surface and _that_ , the knowledge that out of all the women in the world, all the women who threw themselves at him every day, he only wanted _her_ , made the heat grow between her legs. Christ only knows what the staff thought.

She’d take pity on him after 15 minutes or so, knowing his knees must be aching, so she’d say her goodbyes and he’d take her by the elbow and lead her to their offices where they’d get their things. They’d take a silent journey home, sitting as far apart from each other as they could on the bench seat in the back of the Town Car. He’d unlock the door to his apartment, she’d enter first (he’d always been a gentleman, no matter how furious he might be) and then she’d pretend to hurry into the bedroom, knowing full well she’d never make it. Seconds later, she’d feel his large hands on her hips, stilling her in mid-flight. Then she’d feel her shirt being pulled out of her skirt and she’d find herself hissing – involuntarily - as his hot fingers slowly slid down the silken skin of her back and lodged against the zipper of her woolen skirt. Then, with excruciating deliberation, he’d use his thumb and index finger to slide the zipper down, allowing the skirt to pool around her ankles.

Somehow, in these moments, despite the fact that she’d still be completely and utterly pissed at his insubordination, it just didn’t seem to matter. Not with his breath hot in her ear as he leaned around her, gently offering her his wrist so she could balance as she stepped out and over the skirt. Then he’d kick the skirt to the back of the room with stunning ferocity, all the while gently, slowly, turning her around to face him. They’d both be breathing heavily by now - she with anticipation and he with barely restrained frustration.  She’d unbuckle his belt, offer him _her_ wrist so he could step out of his pants and then they’d start to work on each other’s shirts. Some nights they’d take their time, delicately undoing the buttons to reveal the next layer that stood between them; other nights, they’d rip the shirts off each other’s shoulders and fling them across the room. How many $300 blouses had he ruined over the course of their relationship? Dozens?

When both of them were fully naked, he’d back her up against the wall and lift her high in the air. She’d stare at him with feigned anger and use one hand to point him in the right direction and the other to brace herself on his shoulder. He'd eagerly wait for her to bear down, desperate to get inside her but because she knew that's exactly what he wanted she’d insist on taking her time, focusing on his eyes. Eventually, she would slowly, inexorably, work her way down his body until he was lodged so deeply inside her she could feel him in her throat. When he felt her walls slick and hot around him, he’d invariably throw his head back and because it happened every single time, so too did her practiced response: she'd preemptively slip her hand around the back of his head and use it to bring his head up and his mouth to hers. Soon they'd be moaning into each other's mouths as he started pistoning into her.

Occasionally, she’d stop kissing him long enough to give him a stern talking-to about how he’d better not disobey her again and he'd remind her that he was the show's managing editor - he wasn’t just some flunky she could order around, to which she would reply - in between gasps - that the only reason he even _had_ that title was because she'd insisted Charlie give it to him so he wouldn't feel so small, so impotent.

"I'll show you impotent, Sweetheart," he'd say, and with that he'd carry her to the bed.

He'd forget it as soon as he said it, though, because he was far too caught up in just how beautiful she was with her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, far too caught up in the feeling of being _inside_ that unearthly connection they shared, and far too in love with her to pretend otherwise. He'd bring her to a fever pitch and she'd find herself staring into his eyes, gasping as he hit her in all the right spots. Then she'd be ordering him to _say_ it, goddammit, to tell her that he loved her and only her. It was easy enough to fulfill that request and when she finally came, sobbing into his shoulder, he'd withdraw from her in order to kiss every inch of her body.

But it wasn't enough - not nearly enough - not when he was so close to her but still so far away. She needed him inside her, damn it, where he belonged. Soon she'd be begging him to finish it, begging him to fill that aching void inside her, the one that he alone had ever been able to fill, so he'd clamber on top of her, enter her gently and start to move, slowly, slowly trying to ratchet her up again. Sometimes, though, it just wasn't enough and on those occasions, she’d hear herself screaming at him to not hold back, begging him to please, please give her what she needed. Instantly, all restraint would be gone and he’d become a wild man, fucking her as hard as he could. She’d cry out with relief, so grateful to have this man right where she needed him, using his glorious cock to take her places no one else ever had. When he finally came, he’d force himself into her as deeply as he could, repeating her name, telling her over and over and over again just how much he loved her. They’d fall asleep and wake up refreshed and in love, ready to begin again.

“I remember,” he says now, looking at her, his memories of those nights making it hard to concentrate. What the fuck were they just talking about? Something inconsequential, no doubt – at least when compared to how wonderful it had been between them.

“You think the only reason we were that good together was because of the work? What about last night, Kenz, the first time? We weren’t working together last night and I thought it was pretty fucking spectacular.”

"It was. You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m scared – not about how I’ll feel about _you_ without the work – maybe I’m just scared about how you’re going to feel about _me_."

“What are you talking about?”

“If I'm not there to kick your ass every day at the office, maybe you'll grow bored with me, Will. Maybe you'll..."

Does she dare reveal the thought that's been plaguing her since Charlie told her about the tape? The one that arose the second it occurred to her that she might be permanently unemployable?

"Maybe..." she says, biting her lip uncertainly. "Maybe you won't love me anymore,” she says finally, more matter-of-factly than she feels.

 _She really does have a screw loose,_ Will thinks.

“Christ, Mac – you think I only love you because you’re the best EP in the business?"

He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, tries _not_ to roll his eyes at the absurdity of her question: he loves her for everything she is, which is everything he himself is not.

"I love you for things that have absolutely nothing to do with your job, Mac. I love you because you see only the best in everyone, even me. I love you because you’re the only woman I’ve ever been with who isn’t afraid to put me in my place. I love you because of your crazy, naïve idealism. Because you’re so damned smart. I love you because you’re you.”

“Really?”

“Really. God, Kenz, can we please just wait to be scared until something actually happens?”

"OK," she agrees, reaching up to kiss him. 

She relaxes into him. They sit quietly together, lost in their own thoughts, until Will gets a phone call announcing dinner has arrived. He goes to get it, they sit down, and when they finish their meal, MacKenzie gets up to sit on his lap. She's looking around the place and Will tries to imagine what she’s thinking. He’d lived in another apartment when they were together before, and he’d moved into a hotel the day after they split up. He’d never spent another night at the old place again. This one is cold and impersonal and he can see MacKenzie’s mind working.

“Will, how much latitude are you going to give me with this place?”

“Except for moving the TVs, you can do anything you want.” 

“Does that include adding a bit of color here and there? A new rug, some pictures, books?”

“Kenz, I want you to feel at home. Do whatever you like. Get new furniture if you want - the stuff that’s here came with the place and I was too lazy to get rid of it. Listen, I hope you don’t think this is too far out of bounds but I had a feeling you might want to make some improvements around here, so I got you a credit card that’s tied to my account. It has your name on it, though,” he says quickly.

“Will, you didn’t have to - “  
  
“I know I didn’t. I  _know_. But I wanted to.” He looks down, embarrassed. “MacKenzie, I  _like_  doing things for you. I  _like_  taking care of you. Maybe it’s selfish but it makes me feel good. Like I’m doing something useful. And it’s not because I think you can’t take care of yourself - it’s just that - besides making love to you, how many other ways can I show you how I feel? I know it kind of rubs you the wrong way, which is why I wanted to mention it. I don’t want to step on your toes but if you could give me a little latitude in that department, and not fight me or try to make me feel ashamed when I try to do something for you, it would mean a lot to me. Let me love you the only way I know how.”

“Oh, Billy. I understand.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

She yawns. He had a long nap, so he’s not ready for bed yet so he stands up, grabs her hand and starts leading her to the bedroom. She stops suddenly, unwilling to go further.

“Will, I think I’d rather sleep on the couch tonight - I can’t - I can’t sleep in the same bed you shared with Erin Andrews.”

He smiles. “It’s a brand new mattress, Kenz. Just arrived tonight.”

“You ordered a brand new mattress? For me?”

“For us. A fresh start.”

She launches herself into his arms. “God, I love you, Billy.”

“Wait - there’s more. Don’t kill me but I wasn’t sure you’d be set for clothes since you only meant to stay in Chicago overnight, so I got you a few things. Pyjamas, some underwear, sports bras, sweats, nothing fancy. Things you can wear ’til you have time to go clothes shopping. They’re in the drawers on the left side of the dresser. Your side of the closet is on the right and the top drawer in the bathroom is yours. There’s shampoo, lotion, toothpaste - a few other things in there, too. We can get whatever else you need tomorrow.”

“You are so good to me, Will. Thank you.”

“One last thing … I asked my accountant to set up an automatic deposit into your account every two weeks.”

“How did you get my account number?”

“I swiped one of your checks this morning. Sorry. Anyway, Charlie told me what EPs make these days, so it will be the same amount. It’s your money, Kenz. Do whatever the fuck you want with it. I also faxed over the paperwork to add you to my health insurance plan. It should be processed in the next week, so you’ll be all set.”

MacKenzie’s eyes fill with tears. “Will, it’s too -“

He presses his finger to her lips, shushing her. “It’s not too much, Mac. It’s just right, ok? Let me help you. Let me take care of you. You’re doing me a favor.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Listen, do you want to take a bath before bed? Relax a little?”

She nods, too choked up to speak. He kisses her on the forehead and goes to run the bath.

She looks through the dresser drawers and smiles when she sees the chemise. She loves it and she has every intention of blowing his mind with it tonight. She slips it into a bag she finds on the floor and carries it into the bathroom.

When she emerges, Will’s jaw drops. She is easily the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Bar none.

“You look stunning,” he whispers.

“I love it, Billy. You have excellent taste.”

“I picked you, didn’t I?”

She nods. “How about you? Are you ready for bed yet?”

“I am suddenly feeling very tired, yes.”

“Not too tired, I hope?”

“No.” He dips his head down to capture her lower lip, skating his tongue across it in the same move she’d used on him this morning. She moans into his mouth and suddenly the temperature in the room heats up as she captures his tongue in her mouth, sucking on it, trying desperately to get as close to him as she can. He’s got his hands on her ass and then he’s hiking up the bottom of her skirt and when he discovers she’s not wearing any panties, he growls into her mouth, picks her up and carries her to the bed. He sets her down gently and she smooths her palm across the sheet.

“Satin, Billy?”

He grins and nods.

“I feel like I’m in the middle of a Harlequin romance. Are you going to rip my bodice off?”

“Hmmm,” he growls, settling over her. She grabs the back of his head and smashes their mouths together as he sets to work ridding her of the offending garment and soon she’s naked beneath him, writhing beneath his touch. He’s still wearing entirely too many clothes, so she flips him over, settles on top of him, grabs the two halves of his shirt and pulls, listening to the satisfying clatter of the buttons hitting the floor. He’s looking up at her, wide-eyed and grinning and she bends down to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“T-shirt.”

She draws it up as far as she can go and he lifts up so she can pull it over his head and toss it on the floor.

“Better.”

She leans down a little, dragging her breasts across his bare chest, making him moan, and then his arms are around her back and he’s kissing her passionately, all tongues and soft sighs. She raises up to look into his eyes and when she sees his expression she wants to cry. It’s  _her_  Will, the one who loves her desperately. She shakes it off and slides off him, settling on her knees at his side.

“Where are you going?” he asks, alarmed.

“Shhhh. Too many clothes.”

She crawls down to his feet and gently slides his socks off. Then she takes a big toe in her mouth and starts to suckle. He moans, then raises up on his elbows to look at her desperately.

“Mac, come back here. Please. I need - ”

“What do you need?”

“You. Please.”

She carefully edges the elastic down and over his cock, her mouth poised and ready to capture it in her mouth when it springs back. When it does, the sensation of her wet lips, soft mouth and hot breath around him, the way she’s slowly, deliberately, licking his length in long strokes, the way she nurses the tip at every pass, the way she suddenly switches gears to take him deep into her mouth, is enough to start the tingling in his spine. Involuntarily, he starts humping her mouth and he gently grabs the back of her head, playing with her hair as she deep throats him. She’s playing with fire and he’s not going to be able to hold it much longer.


	29. Chapter 29

“Please, Mac - I can’t - it’s too good, honey - I’m not going to last - please.”

“Come in my mouth.”

“No - please - please - I need to be inside you. Please.”

“If you insist.”

He quickly tugs his underwear off and watches, fascinated, as she swings one leg over him and slides down. When he feels her hot walls surround him, he closes his eyes and groans in pure pleasure and lightly grabs her hips as she starts to move. He reaches one hand between them and pure instinct helps him find her clit. He starts stroking, gratified when he hears her moan.

“Open your eyes, Billy. Look at me.”

It’s something she used to say before and it was always the quickest route to a transcendent orgasm for the both of them. She’s inviting him to tap into the connection they share, to make it explode into billions of stars when they finally give themselves over to that which can’t be denied. He does as she asks and when he does, he thinks his heart’s going to explode out of his chest.  _MacKenzie_  is moving on top of him.  _MacKenzie_ , the woman who walked out of his life three years ago, is looking at him with such love and devotion that he literally cannot breathe.  _MacKenzie_ , the woman he never dared dream to have back in his life again - let alone in his bed, is lolling on top of him, eyes hooded and dark with desire. It’s like a dream. No matter what happens with the tape, with his career, with any of it, it was worth it. He’d walk through fire, get into a hundred other screaming matches with her, go through it all a hundred times over if it meant he could end up here, in this moment, with MacKenzie taking him higher and higher, her face flushed, her eyes shining with love for him.

She knows he’s trying desperately to hold on, to wait for her before he spills himself inside her, so she concentrates on his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes that are shining with love for  _her_.

“I love you,” she chokes out. “I love you.”

She’s almost there and when he says, “I love you,” again and again, when she sees his face twist with pleasure as she brings him closer and closer, she finally falls over the edge screaming his name. He holds her up and then she starts to move again, delicately rotating her hips to stoke the fire that’s burning between them. Even now, buried inside of her, he’s still not close enough to her to satisfy his insatiable hunger. He needs her mouth, her tongue, her sweet breath, so he gently angles her off him to lay her on her back. He runs his hands through her hair, settles on top of her and kisses her fiercely. She spreads her legs and grabs his cock, placing it at her entrance and he gently enters her as she moans into his mouth.

He’s gentle and slow, making deliberate strokes designed to build her up slowly, methodically. He feels so good but she can't help thinking he’d feel a lot better if he stopped being so fucking careful with her. She needs to feel him lose himself in her because absolutely nothing on Earth makes her feel more fulfilled than seeing Will McAvoy out of control on top of her, driving himself into her, staring into her eyes and telling her over and over again how much he loves her.

“It’s okay, Billy. You won't hurt me. Do what you need to do. I love you. It’s okay.”

“I can’t -“

“You can. I want you to.”

“Are you sure - “

“God, yes,” she says, pulling his head down and smashing their faces together. “Do it, Billy. Don't hold back. I need it as much as you do."

He forces himself to pull back to look at her then, staring into her eyes as he gives her everything he has. He’s out of control now, baring his teeth as he drives into her. The string from her clit to her cunt is being pulled tighter and tighter and as she looks into his eyes, his body, so strong, grows tall and tight, his hands locked on her hips. “I love you,” he says, over and over again. “I love you.” Faster and faster, firmer and firmer he strokes into her and soon she’s on the edge again. He manages to hold off until they climax together and his face is wondrous to behold, a powerful vision of agony giving way to ecstasy and fulfillment.

He collapses on top of her, breathing heavily, and she thrills at the feeling of his weight bearing down on her.

She strokes his hair, murmuring into his ear. “I love you so much, Will.”

He uses his last bit of energy to lift his head up and kiss her gently. “I love you, too, Kenz.”

They both fall asleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

He’s awakened at 5:00 AM by a phone call from Charlie. MacKenzie slumbers on, having become inured to loud noises when she was embedded.

“I’m sorry, Will," Charlie says. "It’s out. The lawyers couldn’t stop it. You should turn your phone off because people are going to be calling non-stop. Call me at noon and we’ll figure out a statement.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

He sighs, turns off his phone and reaches over MacKenzie to turn off hers. Then he buries his face in her hair.

 


	30. Chapter 30

* * *

She awakens alone. She reaches one arm high above her head, extends her legs and arches her back, stretching happily. If she was a cat, she’d be purring. She rolls over, clutches Will’s pillow to her chest and grins into it, so happy she can’t contain it. Last night had been absolutely extraordinary, a body poem of arms and legs and exquisite pleasure. She doesn’t know how she lived without it for three years but she’s never living without it again.

Will’s still not back yet, so she gets up, pads over to the dresser and pulls out the clothes he’d bought for her. So sweet. So sweet, her man. The hardwood floor is cool on her bare feet, so she slips them into the silken lamb shearling lining of the slippers he’d bought her. She looks in the mirror and takes a second to comb her fingers through her hair, not bothering with a brush; she intends to engage in all sorts of activities after breakfast that will just mess up her hair again.

She exits the bedroom and finds Will sitting at the table, writing on a legal pad.

“Morning, Billy.”

“Morning, Sweetheart. Coffee’s made - cream’s in the fridge and there’s tea in the cupboard.”

“Coffee’s good.” She pours herself a large mug and opens the fridge, beyond touched when she sees it’s stuffed with all of her favourite foods.

“Billy, you didn’t have to get all this food for me - when on Earth did you get it?”

“I ordered it when I was at the airport in Chicago.”

She pads over to where he’s sitting, takes the pen out of his hand and motions for him to make room for her. She sits on his lap and presses a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Will. For taking such good care of me.”

“Anything for my girl.”

“What are you working on?”

“Something for Charlie,” he deflects, reaching around her to turn the pad of paper face-down. Unleashing the hounds of hell can wait until after breakfast.

“Listen,” he says. “I’m starving. Mind if we eat now?”

“Sure. What can I do?”

“Have a shower if you want. Breakfast will be ready in a half hour.”

When she wanders in 30 minutes later, there’s a plate piled high with pancakes, bacon, eggs and fruit waiting for her, along with a cup of tea. They chat about nothing, neither of them wanting to broach the subject of the tape. He waits to bring it up until she pushes her plate back and sighs, utterly full and utterly content. She gets up, wanders over to his chair and he scoots back to make room for her. She curls herself into his body, loops her hands around his neck and rests her forehead against his.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I know you’re probably tired of hearing me say it but I love you. Madly, passionately, insanely - with every cell in my body.”

“Never get tired of hearing you say it, Kenz. Never.” he says, his voice cracking.

“Can I show you? How much I love you, I mean?” she says, kissing him.

God, how he hates to ruin this moment. Part of him just doesn’t give a shit about the outside world but the other part, the one that knows that you're going to pay a price for everything you do and everything you don't do, knows he has to come clean. He hates the fact that they don’t get to choose to _not_ pay a price - that they can only choose which poison to take.

“Yes, you can show me - and I am holding you to it - but it will have to be later because right now we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?”

He sighs. “Charlie called a little while ago. They couldn’t stop it. The tape’s out.”

“Oh my God, Will,” she says, her eyes filling with tears. “Who has it?”

“Everyone. He thinks it’s going to be all over the tabloids today. I was working on a statement when you got up. It’s okay, Sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

“My parents. They’re going to call my parents. I have to warn them.” Then she’s up and out of his lap and heading for her phone.

Shit. He’d forgotten all about that side of things. He needs to call his sisters and brother. His father can go fuck himself.

She grabs her phone off the bedside table and powers it on. 

“Will. Did you turn my phone off?” she calls from the bedroom as she waits for it to reboot. When it does, she sees she’s got over 50 missed calls. She scrolls through the numbers, relieved when she sees nothing from her parents. She gives a hollow laugh when she sees two are from Brian.

How the fuck did he get her number?

“Yes,” Will says, appearing in the doorway. “Charlie told me to - he said people would be calling. You needed your sleep - I didn’t want anyone to bother you.”

She sighs. They’d had that talk yesterday so she _knows_ he meant well but he cannot unilaterally decide what information she needs to hear and what she doesn’t.

“Will, I know you’re trying to protect me but you can’t just turn off my phone without asking. Okay? Please don’t do it again.”

“I’m sorry - you’re right.”

She nods and starts dialling the phone.

She fills her mother in, trying not to laugh when her mother assumes the worst.

“What kind of tape? A sex tape?”

“What? God, Mum, _no_. We got stuck in an elevator and we were arguing - screaming - saying horrible things to each other. The elevator had a security camera and someone sold the video.”

“If you were saying horrible things to each other, why are you back together?”

“That was the first time we’d seen or spoken to each other in three years. We had a horrible break-up and it took a while to talk that through but we did. Except for the tape I am deliriously happy. Really, Mum. You know how much I’ve missed him.”

“I do - well, then, I’m happy for you. Tell him I said hello, dear. And call me tonight, will you? Oh, Brian called and asked for your number this morning. I gave it to him. Was that alright?”

“It’s fine, Mum. I love you. Tell Dad I love him.”

She ends the call and heads to the kitchen to talk to Will.

“What are we saying, Will? What kind of statement are we making? Brian’s called twice. What do we want him to say?”

_Brian fucking Brenner is calling her?_

“Why the fuck does he have your number?”

“He got it from Mum.”

“Are you going to call him back?”

“Yes, if there’s a spin we need him to put on it.”

“Tell him he can take a long walk off a short pier. I don’t give a fuck what he says.”

“Will, we have to think strategically about this. What does your publicist want us to say?”

“I’m waiting for her to call back.”

“OK, I’m going to go brush my teeth. I’ll be back in a second.”

She hasn’t been gone more than 30 seconds when her phone rings. He glances at it and feels his hands clench involuntarily into fists when he sees the name display on the screen.

_Brian Brenner._

He impulsively decides to answer, eager to set this asshole straight.

“Hello.”

“Hello - is this MacKenzie’s - ”

“She’s indisposed, Brian. What can I do for you?”

“Will?”

“Yes. Are you calling to make me miserable again?”

“Look, Will, I’m sorry about what happened back then - I should have said “No comment” when they asked but I didn’t and it got completely blown out of proportion.”

“That’s what you should say today. No fucking comment. I’ll tell Mac you called.”

He hangs up.

Goddamn that jackass.

“Will, who were you talking to?”

“Brian.”

“He called you?”

“No. He called _you_.”

“Christ, Billy. Now you’re answering my phone?”

“What difference does it make? Did you want to talk to him?” he says accusingly.

“How would you feel if I started answering your phone?”

“I wouldn’t give a shit. And if you wanted to set one of my old girlfriends straight, I’d be thrilled. You own me and I don’t care who knows it. In fact, I want the world to know it. But maybe you don’t feel the same way.”

He’s acting like a child again and he knows it but Christ if Brian Brenner doesn’t bring out the worst in him.

“So this is about ownership? Marking your territory?”

“Maybe. Knowing he has your number makes me fucking crazy. I don’t want him calling you. Ever.”

“Because you don’t trust me.”

“No, because I don’t trust _him_.”

“Will, as far as Brian is concerned you have nothing - and I mean _nothing_ \- to worry about but you cannot go around answering my phone. I’ll tolerate a few kinds of tyranny in the name of love but not all of them. Do I need to make a list?”

“Tyranny?”

“You seem to think you can decide what I need to know, when I need to know it and who I should be talking to and that’s not going to fly. I know you’re insecure, Will, I know you want to protect me, I know you mean well, but we have to be equals here.”

“Or what? You’ll leave?”

“No. We’ll just keep having the same argument over and over again and you will lose - every single time. Don’t put me in a position where I have to keep setting boundaries with you.”

He grudgingly admits that’s fair. “Fine. I won’t answer your phone.”

_But back to the important thing: Brian fucking Brenner has your number._

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“Not if you already told him what he needs to say. Did you?”

“Yeah. ‘No comment.’”

“Then I don’t need to.”

She can see the relief flood through him.

“Good.”


	31. Chapter 31

They settle on a simple statement.

_Our conversation was not meant for public consumption. Please respect our privacy at this time._

It blows up in their faces, anyway.

The tape gets more coverage than their original breakup and MacKenzie's new moniker, "Cheating Ex-girlfriend," follows her across all media platforms - print, broadcast and the Internet.

 _Caught on Tape: Will McAvoy's Explosive Encounter with Cheating Ex-girlfriend  
_ _A Man Betrayed: Will McAvoy Still in Love with Cheating Ex-girlfriend_

Then, the twin questions:

 _Will McAvoy's Anger: Should MacKenzie Trust Him?  
_ _McAvoy and McHale, Together Again: Should He Trust Her?_

Even so, Charlie and Leona were right – reaction to Will’s behavior is largely sympathetic.

 _“The problem with ‘nice people’ is that they’ve never been in any situation that would turn them into the monsters they’re capable of being. 'Nice people' get the chance to disguise their dark impulses from themselves. Will’s anger was frightening in its intensity, but he’d been badly hurt and it’s not sunshine and roses when that happens. I think we’ve all been there.”_  

The in-depth analyses come next:

 _Will McAvoy Reunites with Cheating Ex-Girlfriend. Will it Last? Clinical Psychologists Weigh In  
_ _McAvoy and McHale: A Body Language Expert Tells All_

Leona must have gotten wind of the last two headlines because the very next day, she invites them to appear on Dayside alongside two clinical psychologists and a body language expert.

"She told me to tell you to think of it as a free therapy session," Charlie says, his eyes twinkling.

"More like getting buggered up the ass," Will tells him.

They agree to a scripted interview via satellite instead because although Will doesn't live far from the studio, neither of them is willing to venture out into the fray. They’ll have to emerge at some point, but as long as they’ve got groceries, take-out and each other, they’re happy to remain ensconced in their hideaway. Will’s ability to compartmentalize is serving him well these days – so long as he’s alone with MacKenzie, he’s free to relax and enjoy her. It’s only when the outside world intrudes that he starts to worry about what comes next.

The interview goes as well as can be expected and despite the correspondent’s attempts to get them to admit something salacious, Will's steely glare keeps her on track. They breathe a sigh of relief when it's over and switch off to prepare for a real-life therapy session with Jack Habib, who's agreed to make a house call. They decide to make it a joint session: after all, Will's apartment is open concept and sound carries.

When the elevator dings, MacKenzie looks apprehensively at Will.

"You'll be fine," he reassures her. "He only _looks_ thirteen. He actually seems to know what he's talking about."

The door opens, Will shakes Dr. Habib's hand, thanks him for coming by and MacKenzie walks over to where they're standing.

" _This_ is MacKenzie," Will says proudly, as if challenging the man to think she's anything less than the perfect woman.

Dr. Habib smiles warmly at her and she nervously extends a hand in greeting. "Hello."

"It's good to finally meet you," he says, shaking it.

Relaxing a bit, she says, "It's lovely to meet you, too. Won't you sit down?"

She leads him to a comfortable chair and takes a seat on the couch across from him. Will settles down beside her and loops an arm around her shoulders.

"Your message sounded urgent, Will. Is everything alright?"

"Depends on your definition of ‘alright,’ I guess,” Will says. “I don't know if this made it onto your radar but I gave a speech in Chicago a few days ago that's getting a lot of negative attention, and there's a tape of MacKenzie and I - "

"Yes - I saw them both."

"Oh," MacKenzie says, embarrassed all over again. It's one thing to know theoretical people have seen the tape. It's another thing altogether to look an actual person in the eye knowing they heard you telling the love of your life how much you hate him.

"Please - don't be embarrassed on my account," he reassures them. "I liked your speech, Will, except for -"

"The profanity-laced tirade I aimed at Sorority Girl?" Will finishes for him. "I get it. It wasn't one of my finest moments."

Habib nods, agreeing. "As for the other tape,” he says. “All I saw was two people who love each other. Will may not have been willing to admit it at the time but I think it came through loud and clear."

Relieved, MacKenzie relaxes into Will’s side.

“So, Will.” Habib says. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“It’s a little embarrassing – not least because you look like you’re not old enough to drive. But … you’re kind of the only option I – we – have at the moment … unless we want to talk about it on national television.”

“You want to talk about sex.”

“Yes. Do you talk about …. _that_ … with your other clients?”

“I do. I’m a clinical psychologist, Will. Talking to people about their sex lives is a big part of my practice.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“OK.” Will runs his fingers through his hair, trying to get over being embarrassed long enough to actually say what he needs to say. “I had sex with MacKenzie without her permission.” 

“You assaulted her?”

“ _No_ ,” MacKenzie interjects, wrenching herself from beneath Will's arm. “It wasn’t like that," she says, addressing Dr. Habib directly. Then she turns her attention back to Will and says with exasperation, "Will, don’t put it like that! When have you _ever_ explicitly asked for my permission? Never. So don’t act like it was out of the ordinary in that way.”

Frustrated, Will turns back to Dr. Habib. “We have two interpretations of what happened. As usual.”

“I pick interpretations that will let us live happily ever after, Will! You always pick the ones that will tear us apart!”

“Kenz, I know you’re scared and I know you don’t want to talk about it because you’re afraid of what it might mean but you’re still giving me a pass.”

“Because I don’t want you to use what happened to put up walls between us!”

“They’re already there, MacKenzie! You just won’t acknowledge them!”

Her eyes fill with tears.


	32. Chapter 32

He hates hurting her but he _needs_ to get this out. He needs to say what he needs to say and her minimizing it is not going to help them – not in the long-term.

“I didn’t mean - ” he says to her, “Oh, Kenz, don’t cry. Listen to me. I want this to work. I want _us_ to work. But I need to talk about this – that’s why he’s _here_ ,” he says, gesturing to Dr. Habib. “You keep minimizing what happened and I know it’s because you love me and you want to think the best of me and I _appreciate_ you giving me the benefit of the doubt – I _do_. But it happened and I don’t want it to happen again and the only way it’s not going to happen again is if I figure out why it happened in the first place. You weren’t bothered by it but I _was_ , MacKenzie. I really fucking was. That’s why I need to talk about it.”

“Okay, Billy. I just –“

_I just don’t want this to break us up._

“It’s not going to break us up, Kenz,” he says, reading her mind. “I love you too much to ever – it’s what you said, right? Leaving is not an option. We just do whatever it takes to figure it out. Okay? Trust me on this.”

“Okay,” she says, swallowing hard.

He turns back to Dr. Habib, who asks him a question before he can start.

“When did this happen?”

“The night we got together.”

“Okay, can we start from the beginning? The last thing on the tape was MacKenzie telling you she wanted you back. What happened next?”

Will tells him about Nina, MacKenzie’s panic attack and his admission that he loved her. He tells him about the argument before they went to bed and the incredible physical reunion they’d shared.

“Then something woke me up and I couldn’t get back to sleep and I started thinking about what she’d said about trying to control her and my mind started to race – thinking about all the ways this could play out and so many of them were bad. I started thinking she was just deceiving herself thinking we could live happily ever after because we’re fundamentally incompatible.”

Beside him, MacKenzie gasps.

“Hold on, Kenz. That came out wrong – it’s more like the way we express our love for one another is incompatible. It probably has to do with my fucked-up childhood but I don’t remember ever feeling I was at the top of anyone’s list and making sure you know you’re at the top of mine is one of the few ways I have to show you how I feel. I started thinking we hadn’t even moved in together yet and you were already finding that oppressive. What’s going to happen when all you have is me and therapy? I started thinking that one day, I’m gonna come on too strong and that’s going to be the tipping point that makes you leave. I started thinking I’ll never know a moment’s peace because I’ll always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then I started thinking about what happened at Northwestern and the fact that once again I was going to be humiliated in the press for taking back my cheating girlfriend and I just got angrier and angrier. I needed reassurance and I needed to clear my head so that I could get back to believing it was all going to be okay.”

He takes a deep breath.

“So I tried to use her – physically – to get rid of my anger and fear. She was asleep and I just – I just rolled her over and started having sex with her. She woke up and tried to kiss me but I turned my head away. She told me I was hurting her and I ignored her. I didn’t stop.”

“But you did when I asked you to, Will!” MacKenzie says, unwilling to let that be the impression Dr. Habib is left with. “That has to count for something!”  
  
“When did you ask him to stop?”

“When I looked into his eyes and saw the domineering aspect of Will’s personality I’ve come to think of as the _other_ Will. The one that’s unforgiving and ... a little bit ruthless. I was willing to go along with it before because … well, this is _Will_ ... the man I’ve been in love with for years and I knew he was trying to work something out in his head. But when I saw how cold his eyes were, I told him to stop. And he _did_.”

“So you stopped when she told you to directly but not when she said you were hurting her. Why?”

“That’s the thing that scares me,” he says, forcing himself to look at MacKenzie, unwilling to miss her expression when he lays _all_ of his cards on the table. “I heard you and loud and clear, MacKenzie… but in that moment …”

He pauses, so ashamed at what he’s about to say, but needing to be honest, anyway, so she’ll know exactly how fucked up he is.

“I didn’t care. I was so wrapped up in what was going on in my head that what you felt didn’t matter. And maybe, maybe, if I’m being completely honest, there was a little bit of payback in there, too. You know, _You destroyed me. Why should I care about your feelings?_ ”

“You didn’t care that you were hurting me,” she repeats. “I didn’t need to know that, Will. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information?”

“MacKenzie, if I may,” Dr. Habib interjects. “When you buy a house, you hire an inspector to list all its faults because you need to know whether the home’s hidden flaws are cosmetic imperfections or structural inadequacies. You need to know because you can’t fix something if you don’t know it’s broken. Will’s trying to find out if something is broken so he can fix it.”

Will nods. “He’s right, Mac. And the reason I’m telling you this instead of telling him privately is not because I want to upset you – it’s because you need to be able to protect yourself. And you can’t do that unless you know what you’re up against.”

 _Fine_ , she thinks. She hates this but she guesses she’ll tolerate it, so long as it gets them back on track.

"OK, why did you stop when she told you to? Why did that make an impression when the fact that you were hurting her didn't?"

"As I was ..." _fucking her senseless,_  "I looked into her eyes and saw that she was ,,, angry. And then I thought, Jesus Christ, she's not just a prop in my play. This is _MacKenzie_. The woman I love more than anything in the world. How far am I willing to go here? At what cost? Plus, she used the same voice she always uses when she's telling me to stop being an asshole, and I guess I'm kind of used to obeying."

"Then what happened?"

"I started to get off her but ..." he trails off, embarrassed. He looks at MacKenzie. She nods, telling him to go on.

"She told me to keep doing what I was doing ... only more gently ... and to talk to her while I was doing it. To tell her what was going on in my head."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. And it helped. She put my mind at ease, telling me she wasn't going to leave - ever - and said the reason she'd said what she said about me controlling her wasn't because she had doubts about us but because she was afraid for her mental health and her career. Then she asked me to promise that the next time I had doubts, I would check in with her to fill in the blanks, to make sure I had a complete picture. Then she offered to help me discharge the anger and doubt whenever I needed to ..." He looks at her again. She nods. "Sexually."

"You told him he could use you sexually?"

"No - not exactly. We've always had a ... well, I can only speak for myself, really, but... an extraordinary physical connection. In the past, we've used sex as a way to work out whatever problems we had in our relationship. We'd get into these terrible fights at work, come home, have these incendiary lovemaking sessions and end up happy and in love and the fight would be forgotten. I wanted Will to promise that he'd tap into that again."

"Listen," Will says, wanting an immediate answer to the question that's been keeping him up at night. "The fact that I thought ... _using_ her was an acceptable response. What does it mean? What does that say about me?”

“I think it says a couple of things. The obvious one is that you have a lot of unresolved anger towards what happened. Not at MacKenzie, necessarily, but against feeling so powerless. You’re also in an impossible situation: you’re madly in love with a woman you don’t trust. You want to trust her – no question – but you don’t – not yet. Add the fear of public humiliation to the mix – who wouldn’t be angry? ”

 _Are we really fucking back to this again? How many fucking times do I need to hear he doesn't trust me?_  MacKenzie thinks. _I don’t have to sit here and be reminded of my sins._

“Excuse me,” MacKenzie says, getting up. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t _need_ to hear this. It’s distressing.”

“MacKenzie – “ Will tries.

“No, Will! I don’t need to hear you – or your _proxy_ – say you don’t trust me. I know what I did to you but I can’t take it back. I would do anything to take it back but I can’t. The only thing I can do is plant myself in the ground and wait for you to come back to me. I know where I stand. I know what I want. You’re the one who has doubts – not me. Let me know what you decide.”

She walks out of the room.

 


	33. Chapter 33

“Mac – wait up,” Will says and gets up to follow her. When he catches up with her, he turns her around to face him. She's got her arms wrapped around herself and she's staring at him, angry and bewildered.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Will.”

“I want to be able to talk about how I feel without you leaving – or trying to shut me down - because it makes you uncomfortable. That’s all.”

“What does it matter if I’m there or not? I have nothing to contribute to the conversation. All I can do is listen.”

“ _Bingo_. I want you to listen to me, Mac. I want to feel like I’m being heard.”

 _Oh_. She supposes it’s hardly fair to ask him to listen to her rantings if she’s unwilling to listen to his.

“Okay. You’re right. Okay.”

“See? I think we’re making progress,” he says, kissing her. “Thank you.”

He leads her back to the living room and they sit back down on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she says to Dr. Habib. “Please continue.”

“I’m sorry I upset you, MacKenzie," Dr. Habib says. "I was about to say that while I think Will’s anger is understandable, I think he’s right to be concerned. It's like this: the mind is a little bit like driving a horse and buggy. The driver of the buggy is the ego and it’s always struggling to control the id, which is a hungry, lustful, disobedient horse that has no comprehension of objective reality. It has no connection to the external world. It’s selfish. It wants what it wants, period. That’s the part of Will’s psyche that didn’t care that he was hurting you. The fact that Will’s ego didn’t control that impulse is what’s concerning. Will gave himself permission to act on it.”

“It was impulsive,” MacKenzie says.

“No,” Dr. Habib says, looking at her. “It wasn’t impulsive. It may have started out that way, but as soon as he heard you say he was hurting you and chose to ignore it, that’s when it became deliberate. Will, I think you gave yourself permission to do it for a couple of reasons: one, you’d been in a state of heightened arousal – hyper-alertness - throughout the day and by the end of it, your ego, the driver of the buggy, was depleted. What happened onstage, re-connecting with MacKenzie, the showdown you had in the elevator, the fight you had before you went to bed – all of it added up and by the end of the day, you were running on empty. Self-control is a strenuous act. Every time you keep yourself from giving in to immediate self-gratification, the tank empties a little bit more. Two, you were also feeling rejected and rejection tends to obliterate self-control because people who are feeling rejected tend to think, _Why play by the rules if no one cares?_ ” Those were contributing factors but the bottom line is that you gave yourself permission to do what you did. You want to know how you prevent it from happening again? Mindfulness. Awareness. When you feel like you’re about to go down that road, make a conscious decision to short-circuit it by talking about it with MacKenzie or taking a break. I think you’re in a good position to prevent it from happening again because you’re sufficiently alarmed but both of you are going to have to be mindful.”

Relief floods through Will. Mindfulness and awareness. He can do that.

“MacKenzie said something interesting earlier I’d like to go back to. Whenever something happens between you, she picks the interpretation that will let you live happily ever after. That’s what you need to do, too, Will. You’re both committed to this relationship, right? You’ve made a conscious decision to trust her but until that information trickles down to your subconscious, you’re going to have to do it manually. The next time you start having doubts about your relationship, ask yourself which options you have in terms of responding. If all of the options are otherwise equal, weigh each one in terms of whether it will strengthen or weaken your bond with MacKenzie, then pick the one that will strengthen it. It’s a leap of faith, Will. You’ve already taken it. You just have to keep doing it.”

 _He’s validating what I’ve been saying all along_ , MacKenzie thinks. _Please believe it, Will. Please._

“Can you do that, Will?” she says.

“I think so.”

_Thank God._

Dr. Habib can see the relief in both their faces. “How’s everything else going? How are you coping with all the unwanted publicity?”

“Okay, I guess. We haven’t really ventured outside yet. I just wish people would stop calling,” Will says.

“The press?”

“Not just the press – friends – family. Most people have been supportive but others feel the need to weigh in when it’s none of their goddamned business.”

MacKenzie looks at Will strangely. _Did he speak to him, too?_

“Who’s been calling?” Dr. Habib asks.

“My family. My sisters – brother – they all love MacKenzie, so they’re happy we’re back together. They’ve actually been really supportive. It’s been – nice. Surprising, but nice.”

“But there’s someone who hasn’t been supportive.”

“It shouldn’t bother me – I don’t know why I let it bother me, but yeah. Someone else keeps calling and it really pisses me off.”

“Your father," MacKenzie says. 

“Yeah. I should change my number.”

“What's he been saying to you?” MacKenzie asks.

“It doesn’t matter. Just his usual bullshit.”

“What’s he been saying to you, Will?” she insists.

She can take it but she will _not_ tolerate Will being hurt by that man, especially if Will’s going to internalize it and start believing his bullshit.

“He said, ‘I always knew you were a pussy, boy.’” He leaves out the part where he called MacKenzie a whore.

“I’m surprised he didn’t call me a – “ MacKenzie says, and then realizes she’s said too much.

Will cranks his head around to look at her.

“You talked to him? Where the fuck was I when he called? We haven’t left this apartment since you got here!”

“You were having a shower.”

“What did he say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Will.”

“It matters, MacKenzie,” Will says low and menacingly.

“He said, “I may have raised a –“

“Pussy.” Will interjects.

MacKenzie nods. “’But that ain’t me. You’re nothing but a whore, Ms. High and Mighty Producer. You keep your hooks out of my boy or you’ll have me to answer to.’”

Dr. Habib is stunned. How could a man like that father someone like Will?

“That son-of-a-bitch,” Will says.

“Will, it’s okay. I didn’t let it bother me.”

“It’s not okay. I’m going to kill him.” He gets up and starts pacing.

“Billy, please don’t let what he said bother you. You are a million times the man he is.”

“I don’t know why it does bother me. That’s the thing. I know he’s an asshole. Why does it bother me?”

“Because you’re human, Will. And he’s your father. It’s natural to want your parents' approval and support no matter how old you are, but he can no more give you what you need than a parrot could – or a turnip. It’s simply not in him. MacKenzie’s right: do not take what he says to heart. Who he is, how he relates to you has absolutely nothing to do with you. Nothing you did made this happen. Change your number, do whatever you have to do to get rid of him. He’s toxic, Will. He’s not going to change and you have to draw the line. You said your siblings have been supportive. Focus on your relationship with them but don’t let your father be part of your interactions. You are light years ahead of him in every way and he knows it and jealousy and resentment are grenades in the hands of people like him. He’ll stop at nothing to try to bring you down to his level. Don’t let him come near you or MacKenzie.”

“I won’t,” Will says.

“By the way, that’s where it comes from. The voice of the other Will. It’s your father. He uses the same language, the same tactics.”

Will nods, deflated. “I know.”

“Focus on the good stuff, Will. You and MacKenzie have something extraordinary together. It's obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together."

“You think so?” Will says, wanting very much to know they’re heading in the right direction.

“I do. Celebrate it. Enjoy it. Live your life.” He looks at his watch. “We’re out of time – will you be coming to my office next week or do you want to meet here?”

“I think we’ll have to face the music soon so let’s plan on your office.”

Will’s phone rings just then.

 _Charlie_ , he mouths to MacKenzie, shaking Dr. Habib's hand and leaving her to escort their guest out.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, MacKenzie.”

“You too. Thank you for helping Will,” she says, her voice breaking. “For saying what you did about his father. Will deserves so much better than that. He’s so broken on account of him. It’s not fair.”

“It isn’t. But I think what he has with you will go a long way towards putting him back together again.”  
  
“Thank you.”

She sees him out and heads back into the kitchen. Will’s sitting at the dining table, still on the phone, so she motions for him to scoot out to make room for her. She clambers into his lap and rests her head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head.

“How’s Charlie?” she says when he hangs up.

“Okay,” he says. “He wants me back on the air in three days.”

“Are you up for it?”

“I think so. I’m going to miss hanging out here with you, though.”

“Me too,” she says, burrowing into his chest.

“How are you feeling about what just happened - the session with Jack?”

She looks up at him. “Good. He’s a good man and he does seem to know what he’s talking about. How about you?”

“Good,” he says, lifting her chin up to kiss her. “Relieved,” he says, pulling back to stare into her eyes. “I guess we just keep plugging away, doing it every day, right?”

“I think so. We have to get better at checking in with each other, though, Will, making sure we’re not jumping to conclusions.”

“I can do that,” he says, peering at her intently. “I love you, Kenz. So much. And I am so fucking happy you’re here.”

“Me too," she says, kissing him. She gets off his lap and extends a hand.

“Take me to bed, Billy.”

"Yes, ma'am." He puts his arm around her shoulders and leads the way to their bedroom.

It’s going to be fine. He can feel it. Everything’s going to be fine.

 


	34. Chapter 34

They stop in front of the bed and there it is again, that gravitational pull he emits. She's like the sea being pulled towards the moon, so she does the only thing she can do: she buries her face in his chest.

“Any special requests?” he says, dropping a kiss into her hair. When she looks up at him, his eyes are dancing, sparkling with mirth.

“You," she says seriously. The atmosphere in the room shifts suddenly and he blinks hard, the force of the word washing over him. Everything she feels for him is in right there in her eyes and the way she's staring at him, with love, hope, longing, and absolute certainty, compels him to bend down and press his lips against hers. She sighs into his mouth and as they kiss, she reaches inside his shirt collar and slides her fingers down the nape of his neck, eliciting a soft sigh. She feels him relax into her, and when he does, she inhales deeply, breathing him in. She's just so grateful to be in his arms again, to occupy the space she thought she'd lost access to long ago, that all she wants is to complete the circuit and get inside whatever fucking thing it is that exists between them.

She stops kissing him long enough to repeat what she wants. "No special requests. Just you, Billy. Out of control. On top of me. In me. Saying I love you. That’ll do.”

Well, he can certainly oblige her there - in fact, he'd be absolutely thrilled to oblige here there and he has every intention of doing so, but he's in a teasing mood. “No role-playing, tonight, Kenz?” 

She looks at him quizzically. “When have we ever role-played?”

“I seem to remember a masked Halloween ball. You wore that medieval costume with a push-up bra and I had to keep leaving the room to adjust my erection.”

“That was fun, wasn’t it – afterward, I mean?” She bites her lip, remembering. The fact that they can talk about something in their shared past without having it devolve into a screaming match is momentous. They both recognize it but they’re too afraid to mention it, unwilling to test the tenuousness of their newfound freedom.

“Right now, I just want you, Billy," she repeats, resuming their kiss. He closes his eyes and slowly, languidly starts exploring her mouth with his tongue. She sighs into his mouth, then pulls back slowly, unable to resist needling him.

"Maybe when it gets boring I’ll ask you to break out the mask.”  

He raises his eyebrows at her and huffs, “Boring? Never gonna happen, Sweetheart. Not on my watch. I’ll retire early just so I can spend all day thinking up new ways to make you come.”

“Hmmmm. That does sound intrig -”

He shuts her up with a kiss, trying to parse whatever it is that makes kissing her such a revelation. She tastes like the mints she'd been nervously chewing before Habib got there and something else, something distinctively, beautifully _MacKenzie_. God, how he loves this woman. 

He pulls back from her, ready to - no, required - to take this to the next level.

“So, just to confirm: when you say you just want me, you're referring to the one who’s incapable of concealing the fact that he’s madly in love with you, correct?"

“Yes. You can tell the other one to fuck off.”

“I’m afraid he’s madly in love with you too, Kenz. He just really, really didn’t want you to know.”

“In that case, he can watch. But only if he keeps his mouth shut and lets the besotted Will be in charge.”

Will grins, genuinely happy. He still can't believe how much his life has changed in the last week and while the tape business is certainly cause for concern, the session with Habib has allowed him to exhale a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Now, suddenly, without the specter of the crazed lunatic hanging over his head, he’s relaxed and so fucking happy he can practically taste it. When he’d screamed at her in the elevator about how happy he’d been when they were together, _this_ is what he’d been talking about. _This_ is the feeling of utter joy and euphoria that came from having her near that he’d never been able to forget, that he never thought he’d ever have again. He’s so fucking grateful because he’s living it now, anew. He feels like he’s just been injected with glee. He’s so happy that nothing can shake his faith in their union. Which is why he figures now might be the perfect time to have that conversation he’s been putting off.

“MacKenzie, I should have asked you this before but I didn’t want to bring it up because I was too busy fantasizing that the answer was 'No.'” 

_If the answer is "Yes," I'm pretty fucking sure I'm gonna cry._

“Asked me what?"

“Are you on any kind of birth control?” 

She looks at him. How can she explain her answer? That she hasn't wanted anything between them? That she's desperate to fast-track everything so they can get to where they would have been if she hadn't been so stupid? That her biological clock, the one that had clanged so loudly when they were together before and gone deadly silent in the years they were apart, had suddenly revved to life the moment she locked eyes with him onstage? That ever since that moment, she's been wrestling with some undercurrent that has her fucking possessed? She wants every part of a life with him. She wants every part of him. She _wants_ him to get her pregnant, but what's he going to say? She knows his fetishes better than anyone, so she assumes he'll be happy, but there's a small chance she's assumed too much. 

“No," she says, matter-of-factly. 

His breath quickens and she's relieved to see she had him pegged. 

“Fuck," he says, exhaling slowly. "Are you serious?”

“Yes," she says.

His mind. Blown.

“You’re trying to get pregnant.”

“I’m completely in, Will. If we’re back together, that's the next logical step and I’m not getting any younger. I figured that if you were concerned about it, you would have asked me. How does that make you feel?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic."

The grin on his face tells her that he means it. She’s seen glimpses of it in the last few days but nothing sustained like the one he’s wearing now. It’s a 10,000 kW smile and it’s one she hasn’t seen in years. He’s actually beaming.

Then something occurs to him.

"Wait a minute. What about the PTSD? Aren’t you worried about that?”

“I don’t think a screaming child is likely to set me off and hopefully, by the time it’s born, I’ll have my shit together.”

“You’re actively trying to get pregnant,” he says again. “For real.”

“Not trying to. Just not trying _not_ to.”

"You want one of my sperm to fertilize one of your eggs."

"Only the strongest, most manly one, Billy. Not some pot-smoking derelict."

"You want _my_ dick inside you, _my_ dick to sow the seed."

"No one else's, Billy. You're the only dick I need."

"Funny. You want me to fuck you until I come. You want me shoot my sperm directly into your womb."

"Does verbalizing the mechanics get you off or do we need to get you a sex education tape with closed captioning?"

"The first one. You want _my_ baby. _Mine_."

"I've never wanted anyone else's."

Christ, how that it thrills him to hear her say that.

"You want us to be joined for life."

All of a sudden tears prick at her eyes and she nods.

"For life, Billy. For _life_."

"Wait a minute. Who’s going to take care of the baby when you go back to work?”

She gives him a loopy smile. “Maybe I won’t go back to work until he or she's in school.”

“Are you kidding me? You’d stay home for five years?”

“Eight if we have two or three. Do you object? I thought that would appeal to your Midwestern values.”

“It does. I’d be thrilled if you wanted that. I’d rather not have strangers raising my kid. I just didn’t think you’d be open to it."

She wouldn't have been - if it weren't for the PTSD and the tape. She's spent the last few days thinking about what it will mean if her career is over, and she's realizing just how narrow a strip of road she's given herself to arrive at happiness. Her eyes have been her tools, and they were there to help her get what she wanted: a career, and Will. But the price she's paid for that utility, that specific, focused direction, was blindness to everything else. She's been looking at the world in her own particular, idiosyncratic manner, screening most things out and letting some things in. Since she's ignored so much, she's been trying to figure out if perhaps there is possibility where she hasn't looked. What if there's a whole new world that's heretofore been hidden from her because of her previous ambition? Perhaps what she wanted has been blinding her to what else could be. Perhaps she's been holding on to her desires, so tightly, in the present, that she hasn't been able to see anything else. If she were presented with new information, derived from the previously hidden world, what might she focus on? What might she see?

“I don’t think I would have been until a few days ago, really, but now everything’s up in the air, isn’t it? The future seems rife with possibilities and new ways of seeing things.”

“Do you mean it? Wait a minute. Did you just say we’re having two or three?”

He's giddy with excitement and she wants to laugh but she doesn't, deciding she'll answer him seriously. 

“I don’t think being an only child is much fun. When I was growing up, my neighbor was an only child and she hated it. Said all her parents’ focus was on her. There was no place to hide.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m as sure about this as I am about you. What are you thinking?"

“That if we’re starting a family, my Midwestern values require you to marry me immediately.”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes – but only if we put the thing about thinking up new ways to make me come in the prenup.”

“You want a prenup?”

“No. I’m not planning to divorce you. I thought you’d want one. You’re the fabulously wealthy one in the relationship.”

“I don’t want one.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You know what, Kenz? I did not think it was possible for me to be any happier than I was ten minutes ago but I am. I’m officially the happiest man in the world.”

“Because I want you to knock me up?”

“Because this is it, Kenz. We’re together and we’re going to make it and we’re going to have our happily ever after. All five of us.”

“Me and the four Wills? Don't tell me there's another fucking Will I haven't been introduced to.”

“You, me and our three kids.”

Tears well in her eyes. Sweet, sweet Will. The idea’s only been out there for five minutes and he’s all in. Completely in.

"Well, Billy, it's awfully late in the day. I think the County Clerk’s office is closed, so it looks like we can only work on one thing right now. Are you up for it?”

He is.

_THE END._


End file.
